Death's TF Drabbles
by Deathcomes4u
Summary: Generally including smut, oral, sticky and all 'round wholesome interfacing. This is going to become a growing collection, and this is my christmas present to my TF readers, so Happy Merry New Christmas Yers Eve Day guys! XD
1. Chapter 1

_MERRY CHRISTMAS!_

_SOME SMUTTY DRABBLES FOR YOUR ENJOYMENT!_

_Be warned the grammar may be faulty and i didn't spell check them because they're drabbles so i'm not bothered.  
_

_Most of these were from prompts i requested on LiveJournal ( i'm Death_Hendry, look me up for serious mechsmut drawings cause thats where i post them )_

_I tweaked a few prompts and mix+match'd 'em, i'm quite pleased with the result and thought this could be a good christmas pressie for my loyal readers ^.^_

_BE AWARE THIS HAS LOTS OF GRAPHIC, ORAL AND STICKY._

_And it's probably a few other acronyms i haven't gotten the hang of yet as well XD_

_Most are G1 and tie in with 'The Cure-verse' but thats not to say they actually happen in the main story._

_The last one is Movieverse and inspired by me bying the fallen and him getting all intimate with my RotF screamer toy. The idea came to me and now i'm quite fond of the thought of those two lazing around the nemesis in Meg's absence having fun ;D_

_More chapters will be added to this when i do more drabbles, and i likely will, so you can add it to your alerts if you're interested. I am still progressing with The Cure and Reprogramming, expect new chapters possibly on new year's as another present ^.^  
_

_ANYWAY I LEAVE YOU TO ENJOY YOUR PRESENT NOW, HAPPY READING 8D_

_~DEATH.  
_

* * *

**HoundxTwins- mistletoe (im mix n matching the prompts from *flamingmarsh )**

"I, hnnnnn.... i don't think that earth ritual meant anything to go quite as far as this guys, OH!"  
"Shutup n enjoy it while we're drunk enough to give it Hound." Sunstreaker mummbled in his audio before messily and deliciously mouthing the back of the tracker's neck cables again, glossa lapping flat, hot and wet against his lines, drawing a soft, shuddering 'OH!' from the green mech once more.  
Sideswipe giggled nonsensically as he slid down Hound's front, having fulfilled his curiosity of playing with the wynch system attached to the Jeep's front.

Hound wouldn't have minded this sudden and intense bout of seasonal jovality from the overcharged devilish duo, but the fact that they were in the entrance to the crowded rec. room with several optics on them was a little... uncomfortable, to say the least.  
As Sideswipe dragged his glossa down Hound's middrif plating, he twitched and gasped at Sunstreaker's roving fingers, which were digging into gaps in his hip plating and teasing sensitive wiring.  
Suddenly, there was a distinctly hot pressure against Hound's codpiece as Sideswipe sucked and kissed and nibbled it.  
Hound squirmed, faceplate heating in embarrassment, deffinately well-aware of the gazes turned their way, but Sunstreaker caught his arms and pinned them with little effort, even in his ennebriated state, preventing Hound from pushing the Red twin away.  
"Ah! N-now come on, guys... this is deffinately not part of the human custom!"  
"Is. I'm kissing you. Thas the trasdi-...tridis... what you do under mistletoe. Never said WHERE i have to kiss you." Sideswipe slurred hotly against his heating panel, giggling and groping it with his mouth once more.  
Hound let out a groan, trying to make it sound like exasperation rather than pleasure, not sure he succeeded.  
Sunstreaker was humming as he kissed along the strong, angular green shoulders, dipping his glossa into seems with all together too much expertise, skillfully tracing an energon line, making Hound shudder and his knee bearings nearly give way.

Hound wasn't sure how fortuitous it was that before sideswipe's groping fingers could drunkenly open up his panel, a small bright yellow someone came bouncing through the doorway and thoroughly distracted the Twins.  
Hound felt just a little dissapointed as he was completely abandonned by the Twin toughliners, staggering at the suddeness of their departure. He was caught and supported... seemingly by thin air.  
A thrill shivered down his spinal strut as he heard soft laughter in his audio while the other mech helped him regain his balance.  
The invisible hands didn't leave his plating however, but began to caress it softly instead.  
"How about we forgoe the human custom and stick to Cybertronian ones now, hmm?" the cool bodiless barritone purred in his audio.  
Hound felt a hot glossa trail the other side of his neck to where Sunstreaker had been licking and he gave the Rec. room one last glance, nodding and turning to follow his invisible lover down the corridor.  
He knew no one would notice him leave, all eyes had been focussed on the Twins chasing after Bumblebee, who had hidden behind Prowl and Jazz. Hound made a memo to ask Jazz for video of what was happening later, as the last thing he'd seen was the Twins grabbing Prowl by either arm, hauling him towards the doorway while he fought with an uncharacteristically horrified expression on his face.

* * *

**ProwlxBumblebee- Need/Ravished (prompt from *regretfuldragon )**

Bumblebee cried out passionately, recieving an eager, deep throated growl in response. The minibot bucked wildly at the sensations ripping across his sensor net. He never thought so much pleasure could be so pit damned torturous...  
He jerked his hands against the restraints once again, but they didn't yield, and for his trouble the enforcer pressed his weight on the small yellow pelvis, pinning him completely, thrusting his fingers faster in the small port, drawing yet another impassioned cry from his captive.  
Bumblebee was nearly incoherrent with pleasure, squirming, wanting so badly to reciprocate, to touch, to grab and squeeze and paw and show just how wildly HOT the tactician was making him feel... but with a heady wave of some strange kind of satisfaction he remembered his arms were bound to the head of the berth.  
He wailed again in pleasuure as hot vents surged over his interfacing circuitry before smooth lips encased his entire spike, sucking and growling and moving, always moving and OOOOOOOOOH he was going to come AGAIN....

When Bumblebee cycled online again, he ran a systems check. Apart from being a little low on energy, his sensor net was buzzing with the most delicious ache...  
He turned less-than-light blue optics on the mech reclined beside him on the berth. The smell of lubricant and hot circuitry and ionic discharge was heavy on the black and white's vents but he smiled contentedly as his small 'captive'.  
Bumblebee found his hands were no longer restrained and stretched them out to the other, rolling onto his side and pulling himself in close while the tactician shifted to bring him into his arms.  
"What was THAT all about?" Bumblebee mumbled lightly with a sated sigh against the datsun's hood, listening to the strong thrum of the spark beneath.  
Prowl was not the type to do anything without warning... the only time Bumblebee remembered him doing so was the kiss when revealing to Jazz what had happened to bring Bumblebee to his affectionate attentions. Since then Prowl, while still passionate, had been the least impulsive in the three's relationship.  
Which was why the spy had been so utterly blown away when he was snatched from the hallway outside Prowl's office, cuffed and tied to the enforcer's berth where the black and white had proceeded to ravish him into 5 intense overloads without pause.  
"I NEEDED you." was the black and white's soft, simple reply.  
"You need energon too, but i don't suppose you randomly molest the disspenser when you want to refuel." Bumblebee giggled, fingers wandering around the tacticians side to slip into a door hinge, eliciting a deep purr and a gentle rev from the datsun's engine.  
"Mmmm, no. I'm not sure you understand. I. needed. you. And i could do nothing else until i had you." Prowl purred, and the words gave Bumblebee another heady feeling, better even than the thrill of the restraints.  
"Well, you got me. You got me five times. And now I NEED to do what i do best and REPAY you."  
Prowl gasped as two clicks sounded through the room and he found that while one small black servo had been distracting him in his door wing hinges, the other had taken his cuffs and sneakily worked his hands into them behind the spy's back.  
Bumblebee gave him a wicked grin that promised so very much.  
"You NEED me Prowl, then you're going to GET me."  
The promise in the purred words made the tactician shiver in anticipation.

* * *

**TwinsxBeexSkyfire - public ****'relations' (Pandablubb suggestion inspired)**

Bumblebee knew he was badly overcharged. Knew and found that he really didn't care.

For some reason he also didn't care that he was in Skyfire's lap.

For some other unfathomable reason he also didn't care that he was doing his best to arouse the giant Jet.

And he also didn't care that they were in the middle of the rec. room during a rousing night of drinking games and drowning of worries after their most recent and very vicious battle with the Decepticons.

Bee vaguely remembered that he was there because he was trying to express his deep gratitude for the massive red and white flier who had come to Prowl and Jazz's rescue when they were cornered and severely injured in the fight. Bumblebee's two lovers were currently in the Med-bay under Ratchet's keen watch.

The spy had just come over to try and put into words just how much he felt he owed Skyfire… but the high-grade the twins had pushed on him was making it very hard to get a decent grasp on his vocabulary, so he'd felt the need to physically thank the giant.

He'd hugged him, but it didn't feel like enough, the mech was so huge Bumblebee thought he probably barely felt it.

Skyfire had given him a thankful but… almost sad look.

Bumblebee had realised the Jet was alone on his bench against the wall… all the other bots in the room were cavorting in a subdued manner or having drinking contests at their tables, or getting slightly more intimate than usual where they thought they wouldn't be noticed… but here was Skyfire, sitting alone, huge and yet somehow unnoticed and un-accompanied.

Bumblebee remembered asking him why that was.

The reply had been something dodging, like he didn't mind being alone, but his closest friends had all been so busy they hadn't the time to spend with him for a while… then he'd commented on how lucky Bumblebee was to have Prowl and Jazz, how well they all fitted together.

The minibot was a spy, and therefore very observant, even when inebriated. He didn't miss the almost longing tone… the way the large blue optics flickered distractedly to the corner where Bluestreak was being quietly molested by the Twins.

It clicked in Bumblebee's processor then… he understood all too well what it was like to be without a bot to turn to for physical desires…

And so somehow here he was, in the flier's lap, small servos deep in the red and white hip plates.

A long groan from the jet had drawn the attention of a few of the less groggy mechs in the room, and suddenly it was starting to sink into over-charged processors just what they were witnessing.

Before he knew it, Bumblebee was caressing Skyfire's interface panel, and the Jet looked down with a mewl, biting his lip and seeming terribly unsure whether he should be stopping the spy or not.

"B-Bumblebee… what are you… you're overcharged, I don't… want to let you do something you'll regret later… oooh!"

Bumblebee merely giggled as he ran his glossa over the seams of the panel.

"You're overcharged too-" he glanced at the three empty cubes beside them on the bench, "…Won't regret it. I wan-ed to thankyou… so I'm going to thankyou properly… for _ev'rything. _You _always _help. You deserve a _proper _thanking." the small yellow mech said, slurring slightly, but his tone was sincere and decided.

Any protest Skyfire might have made was waylaid by Bumblebee opening the jet's panel and running his glossa down the impressively large interface array laid out before him.

The deep moan Skyfire couldn't quite bite back definitely drew attention, but no-one moved other than to whip their heads around and stare.

Bluestreak was watching wide eyed, gasping over the Twin's helms, eyes fixed disbelievingly on the spectacle across the room not too far from them.

The two toughliners ravishing his chassis with their glossa and teasing his hip joints and wings paid no heed to the sounds Skyfire was making. It was just another mech in the room getting into the spirit of some good, old-fashioned, wholesome public interfacing.

It was actually a much quieter but all too familiar mewl that drew their attention.

The two black helms whipped around, their mouths open and servos stalling, instantly recognising the sound of bliss from _their _minibot.

The sight that greeted them nearly glitched their processors. The faint clank of Trailbreaker falling off his chair told that the poor bot's logic circuits hadn't been so good at coping with the sight they all beheld.

Skyfire was stroking the minibot's small yellow panel with one large, thick digit while Bumblebee… _Bumblebee _was releasing the biggest spike any of them had ever seen, and expertly caressing it with both servos, soon having it extend to it's fullest and very impressive length.

No one could quite believe they were witnessing the Ark's most (apparently) innocent mech publicly exposing and pleasuring the huge, shy scientist jet.

What was more, the yellow minibot seemed to know very well what he was doing. Skyfire was still trying in vain to swallow his own moans and exclamations of pleasure as Bumblebee stroked and licked his length, little glossa dipping into the connector hub at the tip of his cord, playing around the current exchange pins and making him buck weakly and shudder with bliss.

"Oh _Primus…_" Sideswipe exhaled shakily, feeling an increase in wetness beneath his own closed panel.

From the way Sunstreaker's optics flared and his panting quickened, the red twin could tell the show was having the same effect on his golden counterpart.

Bumblebee soon dipped one of his own servos down to his panel, guiding the large white digit to the catch release and opening the cover, baring his interface circuitry.

The large white fingertip played over the small wet entrance as the minibot kissed all the way along the flier's cord, mewling and gasping as the smooth round tipped digit was pressed into him curiously.

The room was getting an excellent view of the jet pumping his finger carefully in and out of the spy's small valve as Bumblebee worked Skyfire's spike with one hand and his mouth, his other hand toying with the leaking valve below that into which all four of his fingers could squeeze.

There were groans and nervous laughs and murmurs all around the room as various bots tried to decide how they should respond to the awkward spectacle. Some where so overcharged they watched with unveiled interest (Cliffjumper was one of these mechs… in fact most of the minibots were watching with surprise and curious interest on their faceplates), others where trying very hard to ignore it and draw the attention of others away (Wheeljack was one such mech and his helm panels were glowing a bright pinky-orange in flustered embarrassment ). Most seemed torn between the shock of Bumblebee's public display and the shame that they were most of them keen to continue witnessing it.

To his ignored audience's astonishment (and apparently Skyfire's as well) Bumblebee pulled himself up the flier's cockpit, knees resting on the large white thighs.

The minibot's engine purred strongly, flush against the sensitive glass on Skyfire's chassis, making him moan weakly.

"No… no way, he's not…" Sunstreaker mumbled, wide eyed, watching slack-jawed as Bumblebee wiggled his hips and arched his back slightly, a pose he knew the meaning of all too well…

Skyfire removed his finger from the small mech's port and held Bumblebee's hip plates a moment, stilling him.

No one could hear what he was mumbling, though his face-plate was flushed a dull red.

Bumblebee petted his chassis in what seemed to be a reassuring manner, smiling sweetly at him with a soft drunken giggle before…

Bluestreak was one of many who gasped at the sight of the yellow minibot lowering himself right onto the quivering tip of the massive, fully pressurised spike.

The Twins let out low groans in tandem, optics fixed on Bumblebee's port as it slowly pressed down on the huge hub of the cord, lubricant beading and dripping down it's length as it slowly stretched his entrance.

"50 credits says it won't fit" Sideswipe muttered to his brother, lopsided grin curling onto his faceplate.

Sunstreaker gave a soft, short, haughty laugh. "You underestimate him. You're on. I'm going to by him some pain relief balm when you lose." Sunstreaker challenged wryly.

"Guys… shouldn't someone be stopping this, or at least giving them some privacy or- _oh_ my!"

Bluestreak's little worried rant was stopped short by a loud moan from both Bumblebee and Skyfire as the minibot took the head of the jet's spike into his port, lubricant fairly pooling beneath the two both from Bumblebee's and the flier's valves.

The look on Bumblebee's faceplate was… arousing, to say the least. No-one in the room ( the twins and cliff jumper) had ever imagined that beautiful expression would grace the small silver faceplate… pinched orbital ridges above half shuttered and bright azure optics, over the slightly drawn up cheek arches, coloured a cherry red while his mouth formed an 'o' of both discomfort and intense bliss.

Skyfire's face in the throes of pleasure was also quite the thing to behold. But the sounds they made where what really seemed to set an even higher tone of unrest within the room.

There were mechs who had been intimate in their corners now returning to their activities with renewed vigor, glancing back to the spectacle often, seemingly for inspiration.

Wheeljack sighed and downed his full cube of high grade before going to get another. He wanted an excuse for not intervening in his small friend's public display before it went so far. There was only so much a best friend could do in a situation like this, and really it had only been a matter of time recently as to when the rest of the Ark would realise their innocent little spy was as intimate as the rest of them.

Wheeljack had just never imagined it would come out… like this. He only felt guiltier the longer he stayed because part of him was, despite himself, getting rather excited by the glimpses he threw in his two companion's direction. He _had _imagined Skyfire in that way before… and even more to his shame he'd once or twice briefly had curious thoughts of Bumblebee in that capacity too.

Both of them somehow displaying more creative expressions and sounds than he'd ever made up in his processor right in front of him was not something he could fight the effects of well.

Skyfire gasped and moaned as the incredible hot, wet pressure of the small valve engulfed the head of his spike. He'd _never _felt anything like that… most valves were small for him… but he'd _never _spiked a _minibot._ Scientifically speaking, he didn't think it was possible… not that he'd ever given it much thought but _by Primus _it was the tightest, hottest, mostly sweetly painful feeling he'd ever experienced in an interface and he _loved _it.

Bumblebee panted and keened in apparent delight around his midriff. The small black servos dipping into seams and stroking wires as he pressed slowly even _lower,_ taking _more _of the red and white cord into him.

Skyfire had never even imagined Bumblebee in this way… the minibot seemed the least intimately inclined mech on the Ark, something Skyfire could well appreciate and admire. Despite his profession, the spy was a genuine kind of bot, trustworthy and loyal and brave beyond his frame size.

But right now, Skyfire found himself admiring the way his face screwed up in a mix of pain and pleasure as the yellow mech slowly filled himself with the usually quiet scientist's over-large for him spike.

Bumblebee went slow, even through his overcharged haze very aware of his physical limitations. But he was fairly confident after the experience of his last few earth months with Jazz and Prowl, and his occasional kidnapping frags from the Twins, that he could handle one go with the giant flier. Skyfire deserved some attention, after all. Bumblebee knew all too well the frustration that came with being neglected in the intimacy and interfacing department. He was so wrapped up in making sure Skyfire enjoyed himself that he had rather forgotten about the rest of the mechs in the common room.

He was focused intently on the simply massive spike he was pressing into himself.

It was the most delicious mix of pleasure and pain he had ever experienced. He did have a short moment of doubt, when he reached the widest girth-band of the hub, that it wouldn't fit. And that simply wouldn't do, because he didn't want to go to all this trouble only to disappoint Skyfire, so he adjusted the angle of his hips and pressed down a little harder.

With a satisfying, slick squelch, the head of the spike popped into him, and from there it was fairly easy.

Bumblebee mewled in sympathetic frequency with the jet as he took more of the length, still going slow to let the walls of his port adjust and relax slightly.

The Spike was so thick it set off every sensor in every inch of valve wall it touched, making Bumblebee quiver and whimper and gasp in delight.

When he felt the connector hub reach his socket, he had only taken in a third of the flier's length, but Skyfire seemed quite content as it was… if Bumblebee could call gasping and groaning and clutching at his hips content anyway.

Skyfire felt hot waves of pleasure wash over his circuits from the sensors along his cord. The tightness only increased his sensitivity, to the point where he could feel every bead of lubricant that trailed down the exposed part of his cable.

He felt his plug hit the minibot's socket, but they were completely incompatible for a connective interface. It would be purely tactile, but Skyfire wasn't complaining.

For some reason, that sane voice in his CPU that would normally be telling him that this was totally wrong and inappropriate had been drowned in high-grade and pleasure. He was an explorer by nature, and this was uncharted territory for him interfacing wise… as overcharged as he was it only seemed natural to allow it to continue.

All of this of course was taking up his processing capacity, and like Bumblebee, he quite forgot about their audience.

It was clear to a lot of the bots in the commissary, even inebriated as they were, that the pair had become completely oblivious to their surroundings.

The Protectobots had the decency to leave, taking the passed out Trailbreaker with them.

Red Alert and Inferno also slipped out, but that was more so they wouldn't also embarrass themselves in front of an audience.

The Twins, as incorrigable as ever, were taking full advantage of their minibot's impromptu performance, and had rearranged themselves so that Bluestreak was stradled over one of each of their knees, his back to them, forced to watch too, while the brothers began to work him over expertly again.

Bluestreak's face was brighter that anyone's as he squirmed and quietly mewled in feint protest against the toughliners ministrations. Hot mouths and glossas teased his door wings, hands stroked his headlights and hip-plates, one (he thought it was Sunstreaker but he couldn't quite be sure) snaked it's way around to his panel, stroking and teasing him.

When Bumblebee began to move up and down in agonising slowness on Skyfire, making him moan loudly, Bluestreak tried to look away. He felt shameful, they were his comrades, his friends, he shouldn't be taking advantage of their overcharged state and let himself watch them get much friendlier than he'd ever seen them…

But Sideswipe took one of his chevron points in hand and held it firm so that he had no where else to look.

He let out a long, low moan and squirmed as his eyes were drawn irrevocably to the point of contact between the jet and the minibot.

How did Bumblebee manage to produce that much lubricant? Nevermind that, how was that spike even _fitting _in there without splitting something? Oh and the sound of it moving was something else, and the way Bumblebee arched, moving faster as he accustomed to the size and rolled his hips to stimulate as many of both their sensors as possible…

Bluestreak hadn't gotten more than a bit tipsy, but he found that he too was caring less and less about the presence of other mechs around him, even as he noticed that the Twins had opened his panel and coaxed out his spike.

It didn't take long for both Bumblebee and Skyfire to reach a high sensory charge. Bumblebee's servos had buried themselves in earnest into the jet's chassis, finding and stroking transformation cogs.

Skyfire petted the glass of Bumblebee's sides with his thumbs, his fingers dancing lightly over the yellow and black armour, too big to slip into the small gaps and caress the wires of his companion. He realised he could utilise his basic knowledge of anatomy and sensory layouts and remembered that horns on a mech were generally rather sensitive.

He gingerly cupped the yellow helm resting against his chassis and ran a thumb over one of the small yellow horns.

Bumblebee moaned loudly and his valve walls rippled in pleasure around the spike as it stretched and filled him. Skyfire fairly purred as the smaller mech's hips rolled faster and the heat of friction increased.

To the pair it seemed the ecstasy rolled over them for breems, but in actuality the whole thing was barely taking one.

The sounds they made became shorter and more intense until Skyfire's hips were twitching up to meet Bumblebee's downward thrusts, and as the large white servo pinched a yellow horn, the minibot clenched wildly around the hot, twitching spike, crying out as he overloaded.

Skyfire's rumbling groan of release drowned the spy's out as he climaxed a moment later, clutching the smaller mech to him as Bumblebee's engine revved high with his sensory charge release.

Even Wheeljack hadn't been able to avert his optics at the sound of the two mechs overloading.

Many of the others who had never stopped watching let out appreciative moans as lubricant pooled between the quivering pair.

The minibots, all highly overcharged, actually clapped, and the aerial-bots joined in, but Bumblebee and Skyfire didn't seem to notice as they slumped together against the wall, panting and riding out the tail of their climaxes with soft mewls and twitches.

Bluestreak had nearly overloaded just seeing the pair finish up, but despite the Twins ministrations, he wasn't quite there yet, and with a squeak of embarassment and copious amounts of squirming he snapped back to reality to find a few sets of optics had moved from the end of one show and onto him and the Lamborghinis.

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were kind enough to switch back to how they were before Bumblebee and Skyfire had started going at it, pressing Bluestreak into the wall on their bench, shielding him with their bodies as they worked his interfacing units.

Sideswipe even put a hand over Bluestreak's mouth, knowing the gunner couldn't mute himself when stimulated, and pumped the familiar valve fast with expert fingers, grinning deviously.

Sunstreaker worked the spike, also smirking. "You can pay me that 50 credits when we get back to our quarters, by the way." He muttered smugly to his red counterpart, who didn't at all seem disappointed over loosing his bet.

Bluestreak panted, wide optic'd as he watched the room over the Twin's shoulders.

Everyone was ignoring them again, most laughing awkwardly and trying to break the charged air of the commissary while Bumblebee and Skyfire remained intimately locked on the bench, ventilations deepening as the minibot giggled slightly and the jet replied with a soft sated rumble.

Now Optimus Prime didn't often find time to visit the rec. room, but with his paperwork done and (surprisingly minor) injuries seen to, he felt it might help boost morale to pay his crew a visit, knowing they were trying to raise their spirits again after a hard won victory against the 'Cons.

He had expected a little lewdness given the high-grade had been broken out… but he had never, in a million solar cycles, expected the sight that greeted him upon entry.

It was so… unbelievable, that he had to shutter his optics several times… walk out… and walk back in again.

But the scene did not change.

To his absolute astonishment, there was Skyfire, on the large far wall bench where bigger framed mechs usually sat, and in his lap was a rather tired but happy looking Bumblebee… and the most unbelievable thing, which he still couldn't quite process as reality… was that Skyfire's spike was most definitely partly buried in the minibot's port.

Any mech that noticed their leader's entry looked very much like a deer caught in headlights.

Curiously enough, neither of the mechs who where apparently the centre of attention seemed to notice him at all. Judging by their position and the amount of empty cubes beside them, they weren't really aware of anyone else.

In any case, wrapped up in their own little world, Bumblebee squirmed slightly and pulled himself sluggishly up Skyfire's chassis, drawing himself carefully off the flier's length, until with a very loud and very wet 'pop', the large and now depressurised spike came free of him. He and Skyfire sighed in contentment, the jet resting a servo lazily over the yellow back-plating as the small helm rested against him, the spy's engine purring loudly.

Optimus' gaze was suddenly drawn from this incredible sight to a slight movement in the corner.

He 'blinked' again and shook his head before deciding this was all way beyond him at the moment, and he left to inquire at the med-bay with Jazz and Prowl… he would have to ask them how long they had neglected their berth-mate in order to drive him to… whatever it was he'd just done in front of half the crew.

And he'd have to warn Ratchet that he was likely to receive a dented and paint marked Bluestreak tomorrow… and possibly one rather sore and hung-over minibot.

Bluestreak had been as shocked by Optimus Prime's arrival in the rec. room as everyone else… everyone except Skyfire and Bumblebee, that was…

But while the sudden thrill of being 'caught' by their commander witnessing an exceptionally intimate (and primus forbidden _hot _) moment between two of their comrades had only served to heighten Bluestreak's arousal for some reason.

The sight of Bumblebee drawing off Skyfire and the resounding wet pop and copious trickle of lubricant had tipped him over.

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had identical Cheshire cat grins as they continued to pump the gunner's spike and valve, the grey datsun twitching in overload as his moan was nearly completely muffled by Sideswipe's hand.

Bluestreak's pleasure flared even more as he caught Optimus' gaze flickering to him as he writhed in his climax.

When his pleasure finally ebbed and he slumped against the wall, Sideswipe dutifully extracted a cloth from his subspace and cleaned the gunner's valve and the spatters of lubricant around it and on the bench, licking the Datsun's lubricant off his own digits with relish.

Sunstreaker got up and walked calmly over to the bench where Bumblebee was half slipping into recharge and still giggling faintly against the red and white jet's chassis.

Skyfire seemed slightly confused to see Sunstreaker, but grinned sheepishly at him as he approached and stood in front of them, servos on hips with an appraising look on his faceplate.

"He wanted to say Thankyou." The Jet mumbled with a silly giggle to match Bumblebee's.

"Mmm. He's like that, but I think I'll be taking him from here. I'm sure you'll get some volunteers to help you back to your room, but here, you might want this."

Sunstreaker said silkily as he plucked Bumblebee from the jet's lap and threw him a large cloth, which landed neatly over his soaked interfacing panel.

With that the Twins took the purring, overcharged beetle away, and not even Wheeljack could muster a questioning protest.

Bluestreak remained panting on the bench for another klik or so before he decided he should probably call it a night and save what little dignity he might have left… and while he was at it, he should probably help Skyfire do the same.

When Bluestreak failed to get the huge, groggy, giggling giant scientist to his pedes (he'd only half cleaned himself up before retracting his spike and closing his panel, too overcharged to really do a proper job ), the aerial-bots came to his aid, despite the fact most of them were rather tipsy too.

Somehow though, they managed to get their fellow flier out the door and slowly made progress to his quarters.

After that, the rec. room began emptying of mechs, most of whom were murmuring to each other or throwing their partners suggestive looks.

Up in the monitor room, the Porsche had seen the whole thing. Jazz, still injured but infinitely bored by the med-bay, had been allowed to relieve Red Alert for a shift by Ratchet… who had only yielded on the request because Jazz wouldn't stop playing his obnoxious music in the med-bay.

He was beaming from audio to audio as he hit the 'stop record' button on the console for the rec. room cameras.

Ooooh, Prowl was going to get _so _hot when he showed him the recording of the event later…

* * *

**Fallen x Starscream - Movieverse (unprompted)**

"My Lord, you are much kinder than Megatron…"

"That is because _I_ know how to keep my seekers _loyal_. Remember… I was a Prime, once, and if any being knows how to properly control and command, it is the greatest of the Primes… my servant Megatron believes fear is the best means of subdugation… but I know better, Starscream, I always will."

The seeker moaned and arched his helm back, legs flailing weakly as the multi-faceted digits probed deep into his armour, strumming a multitude of wires as if he were an instrument to be played.

Starscream let out a long moan, more gutteral than his usual screechy tone.

The Fallen hummed in pleasure, indeed feeling as though he were playing an instrument, the sounds pleasing to his audials.

He could do this to any mech, but he had always enjoyed seekers the most. So fiery, such sensual creatures, always ready for pleasure yet quite capable of tolerating pain (though perhaps a little too screechy for his liking when it was inflicted).

He was well aware that this seeker was more a thorn in his primary proxy's side than an instrument of pleasure. But it mattered little to the Fallen. He had desires, stronger even than those of the Transformers that had come after them, for they were the first of a race and as so had been made with the strong urge to spark and create new life.

The Fallen had long since sparked all the hatchlings in stasis within the Nemesis, the femmes and mechs whom had been their other creators had long since perished, for that had been their only purpose and it had spent them all.

These orns, the only thing the Fallen was interested in when his time was unoccupied and his mood so enticed, was satisfying himself. And playing with the little Seeker Megatron had left him was quite the pleasant pass-time.

Starscream moaned louder as the ancient digits probed lower, petting his cockpit, strumming the energon feeds to his thrusters, caressing the transformation cogs in is hips.

He cried out wantonly as the Fallen removed his panel and played his many skilled claws over the jet's interfacing components.

The Fallen let out a rumbling purr of satisfaction as the brown mech in his lap arched and squirmed and copious amounts of lubricant began to drip from the seeker's clenching port.

Such sensual beings always fascinated him. He could bring them to their knees, begging him for only his touch, holding _true _power over them as they gave their will over without a fight, submitted to him completely. He didn't need any touches in return, this offering of complete control was enough for him. He was not a sensual creature. Lustful, certainly, charged with desires and willing to take them, no doubt, but he couldn't quite understand the _touching _thing. Transformers were so easily swayed by a few gentle carreses beneath the plating in the right places. If they attempted to touch him that way, he would feel nothing, and they would feel pain because the power and energy that ran through his frame was volatile to them, and the only thing that kept them alive in his presence was his ability to control it utterly.

With this in mind, The Fallen continued to touch and tease, probing Starscream's valve and purring in satisfaction at the little gasps and mewls of his submissive little pleasure creature. The ancient metallic being leant back at ease in his throne, sliding the brown flying mech down his thighs as he extended his spike from between the protective pelvic horns that protruded between the legs of his impressive frame.

Starscream whined in need, grinding his hips forward, and with a deep, lustily amused laugh, the Fallen simply picked the seeker up and turned him around in his strong grasp.

Starscream spread his legs wide as The Fallen lowered him down again, keening out in bliss as the thick, glorious spike pressed into him, sliding up and filling his hot, wet valve. Starscream clenched automatically around the all at once hot and cold spike, savouring the pleasurable feel of every ridge and plate of it's scaly metallic length before he began riding it slowly, moaning and mewling for his master, willing to please the lord that kept him in his place by promising this bliss as opposed to pain.

The Fallen let out a deep, satisfied growl as he felt Starscream tighten around his spike. It was always such a nice feeling, inside Starscream… so at odds with the Seeker's usual attitude and behaviour. It sometimes grated on him, and he'd send the mech away, but moments and feelings like this always made up for the tattoo'd seeker's short-comings.

He allowed the flyer to rise and fall at his own pace, purring as the mech tightened his port as he pulled off, relaxing as he slid back down, his lubricants trailing hot and delicious down his length and dripping onto the seat of the throne, seeping into the crevices to imbue it with that enticing, heady scent of carnal pleasures. Sweet and tangy, the fallen sampled some of the fluid still coating one of his digits before bringing that same servo to Starscream's mouth, enjoying the way the seeker's valve spasmed as he licked his own essence from his master's digits with his hot, talented glossa.

The powerful being decided it was time to take control again, and grasping the tapered waist still rising and falling over his lap, he firmed his grip and started to direct the speed and force of the thrusts.

Starscream relinquished control readily. He loved this part. Grasping the arms of the throne, he spread his legs and relaxed his back cables, letting the Fallen move his hips as he wished, concentrating on the sensation of the thick, hot spike moving within him, lighting every sensor in his port as he was pressed harder, deeper, faster by the powerful creature.

Starscream cried out and moaned loud, while the fallen thrust up as he pulled the small hips down, driving as far into the valve as he could, savouring the splash of lubricant being ejected from the tight, throbbing entrance as he filled it entirely.

He moved a multi-digited servo around the seeker's front, continuing to pull him up and push him down with his strong thrusts. His other servo started playing around the flyer's spike housing, teasing the connection hub tip just peeking out of the panelling in which it rested.

Starscream gasped and whined, his cord quickly pressurising with the attention, sliding from it's housing and coaxed by further strokes and caresses from the ancient yet gentle digits.

Starscream was fun, for lack of a better word. The ancient mech liked having him at his beck and call, always ready for pleasure and keen to cater to his desires.

But He couldn't help remembering how much more entertaining it had been to entice that _Soundwave _into this activity.

He would have to try again when the mech returned form long-term surveillance duty… perhaps he could stop by the mech's station when he had to go down to the disgusting mud-ball planet…

Mmmm, the thought of the stoic communication officer's tight port and the incredible sounds he had made caused the Fallen to quicken his pace in the Seeker, slamming the brown hips down on his own. The apex of Starscream's crotch fitted so well with his own, sometimes the Fallen wondered if Seekers weren't made specifically for sparking with him.

He had already sparked just two hatchlings with the air commander, merely to engage the mech's protective, sparkling carer programming to make him a suitable warden.

He did so prefer to simply pleasure himself with Starscream, those breathy, clipped moans were telling him the seeker wouldn't last much longer.

Pleasure was rippling through his own core, energy building in a tight, exquisite feeling point somewhere in his middle.

He curled his digits over the seeker's spike and stroked hard along the cable sheathing, pulling down it's length as he drove his own spike up into that wildly clenching valve.

Starscream arched as his release came, the Fallen's long, thick, hot spike driving well into his port as he changed his angle. The blunt tip slammed mercilessly into the seeker's main sensory cluster and he screeched in bliss, spike spasming as his electrolytic transmetal fluid ejaculated out across the ancient metal digits and the edge of the throne.

The Fallen's built up charge bloomed through his frame as Starscream's port clenched tightly around him and he hilted himself deep in the brown mech, still thrusting hard as his own fluids spilled into the tight space.

The essence that the Fallen spilled into Starscream was nearly too hot to bear, but it only served to drive him even wilder into the throes of climax.

Eventually, the throbbing pleasure ebbed and dulled, and the ancient mech languidly pulled himself out of the seeker, humming his satisfaction at the mixed fluids that spilled from the flier's valve and onto his thighs.

Starscream, without prompting, slid off his masters lap and turned, kneeling down to lap away and clean up the fluids from the dark thigh metal and still extended spike.

As it seemed was usual the cleaning slowly turned into a second round for the Fallen, Starscream doing some glorious things with his mouth and glossa that the ancient mech doubted his precious Megatron was capable of.

_Sometimes,_ the ancient being mused, _it is good to remember the purpose of having these weaker underlings_.

Starscream, oblivious to and uncaring of his masters thoughts, smiled around the large, quivering spike as it spilled that hot, sweet essence again and he swallowed it all greedily. He prided himself on being able to pleasure this Master… mostly because he knew it was the one thing he would always do better than Megatron, and the mean, scraggy, bossy bastard knew it. So it was always with great vigour and eagerness that Starscream did whatever the Fallen bade him to.

But apart from that… alterior motives be damned, they were so fragging _hot _together it was surely criminal in several galaxies.


	2. Chapter 2

_Felt I needed to hash out a few more of these for you, but i'm cheating._

_Two are just straight out teases. Sorry, i'm being cruel X3  
_

_The first one i started waaaaaaay back and didn't have the drive to finish, but feel free if you want to use it as a prompt._

_The second can also be used as a prompt, i secreted it into my lecture notes book end of semester last year when too much post-modernism research addled my processor and made me want to do something all touchy feely with a science bot XD_

_The third came to me yesterday and i ran with it much like the Starsceam thing. Again, i'm having too much fun with the idea of a casanovatron Fallen. And hell that ain't a pairing you see every-day (which makes it hotter imo )_

_But lol. Hope you enjoy to some degree._

_Why the frag am i so into pointless sticky with BayVerse? oh wait... its cause it's canon (watches starscream spit like a tabacco chewer for half his screentime)._

_By the way, if these don't seem like drabbles to you, then compare them to the chapters of my TF stories. They're drabbles when you're used to writing 10,000 words standard per chapter lol.  
_

_Anyway loves, Death out~  
_

* * *

**G1- Tracks x Mirage**

"Liking the show?" Tracks said out loud. No one else was there. Which could only mean…

"You might as well give it up Mirage, even if you left now I'd hear you."

Mirage was tense and panicked for a few more astroseconds before he composed himself as best as he could and turned off his hyper-light generator with an aspiration of his vents.

"H-how…"

"I didn't. I was guessing. It was the smallest hunch. Don't worry, you're as good as you think you are. If you weren't, the 'Cons would already have caught you on one of your missions."

Tracks said lightly, still casually running a cloth over his chassis as he stood with his back mostly to the spy. They were in the wash racks, where Mirage would usually skulk when he knew the scarlet faced, blue and white mech was finishing his patrol shift. He was always so careful not to stand in puddles or walk through running water and give away his position, but sometimes he'd lose concentration as he watched the racer get his armour to shine with almost as much lustre as Sunstreaker's. How many times had he wanted to take the cloth from the other's hand and finish the job for him?

"Reality to Mirage, come in Mirage, do you read me?"

The noble crested helm snapped up in alarm as the spy realised he'd let his processor drift again.

"I… I-I'm sorry, Tracks… I just… um…"

_Slaggit_ how did this happen? How could he, HE, of all mechs, a noble, be so utterly lost for words and caught out in this way?

Tracks merely laughed. "'Raj, if you like my company that much, all you had to do was ask…"

Mirage stared in utter disbelief… he wasn't offended? Angry? Wait, was he… was that an invitation?

Tracks smirked at Mirage's wide, stunned, desperate optics and turned a little to face the noble mech, making sure he stayed under the stream of steaming water as he placed a servo on his hip and leaned into the nonchalant stance.

"Don't think I haven't noticed. I wasn't sparked yesterday Mirage, and I'm certainly no stranger to love… mind you I never expected to attract the attentions of a Noble…" he purred in that quiet, cool, slightly aloof, ever so daintily _haughty _voice as he bit his bottom lip the tiniest bit, sizing up the F1, who was standing rigid as a steel strut, his confusion and alarm and desire so desperately evident on his faceplate.

"W-what do you mean, no stranger to love?" He managed to utter nervously, feeling his faceplate heat and sear with both embarassment and excitement.

"You don't spy on a mech washing themselves unless you get a certain feeling out of it, 'Raj." Tracks stated matter-of-factly. Mirage's Optics widened as Tracks traced the servo with the washcloth in it slowly down his own chassis, wiping all the way down to his thigh where he made small circles with it. Mirage realised he'd been staring at it and his gaze immediately shot back to Track's. The racer gave him a look that sent a tingle down his spine-plating.

"There's only a limited number of feelings it could produce… what are you feeling, 'Raj?" he said softly, _sultry_, that smooth drawl teasing him without Tracks even having to touch him.

Mirage realised his vents were panting slightly.

"Maybe… you're feeling dirty?" Tracks continued, the purr back in his voice as the cloth in his hand moved down to the inside of his leg before trailing slowly up it again. Mirage bit back a whine, trembling slightly as his pelvic plating began to heat up.

"In which case… I should probably help clean you up…"

Mirage nearly off-lined right there. He was no Casanovatron, but he knew an open invitation when he heard it.

Slowly, tentatively, Mirage moved forward, as though in a dream. His optics were captivated by the shimmer of the water on Track's highly polished finish. Nervously, Mirage reached out his fingers, touching the glossy chassis, tracing the flame decal. Tracks smirked, his Optics half shuttered.

He moved the cloth from the inside of his leg and traced it lightly up Mirage's. Mirage gasped and shuddered, optics dimming to nothing as he became lost in that faint, luxurious sensation that had just met his sensors.

"What are you feeling, Mirage?" Tracks whispered in his audio as he pressed the cloth to the Spy's hip, tracing it along the line of his pelvic plating under his midriff.

"hnnn… I feel like I haven't washed… in a very long time…" Mirage vented quietly, his cooling fans already kicking in with the proximity of the racer's servo to his pelvic plating.

"I thought as much. Better make sure I'm thorough then." Tracks all but growled low, reaching the middle of Mirage's midriff and stroking the cleaning cloth hard down the front of the F1's codpiece.

Mirage stiffled a moan, the whirr of his cooling fans turning to an all out hum. His servos grasped Track's shoulder struts to stop his knee joints from giving out. He could feel his whole frame trembling. He couldn't even process how good it felt for his fantasies to be coming true, right then and there.

Tracks let out a soft, delighted laugh, breaking the sultry allusion he'd created.

"Primus 'Raj, I didn't know you were that desperate…"

Mirage let out an involuntary whimper, faceplate burning afresh. "S-sorry… I haven't… um.."

"I can tell. No bot that's gotten some within the stellar cycle is that sensitive… and I'm well aware you're not one of the Ark's more active lovers." Tracks murmured into his audio as he moved the cloth away from the burning hot pelvic plating to the spy's chassis instead.

Mirage fidgeted a little, embarrassed.

"It's alright… I'll take it a little slower." Tracks purred, pressing himself to the blue and white mech a little on the pretense of reaching over the spy's shoulder to clean his spoiler.

Tracks brushed his lip components across one of the crests of Mirage's helm, making him shudder and melt, Tracks slowly but firmly running the cloth across his spoiler all the while.

With the close contact, Mirage finally managed to get enough of a hold on his stunned processor to start thinking about reciprocating.

The noble's servos moved with a delicacy and accuracy borne of his up-bringing. Tracks gasped as he felt the refined fingers tracing the joints of his wings.

The two played over each other's sensory appendages lightly, eliciting soft gasps of air through vents or mewls of delight if they pressed a little too hard…

Eventually, Mirage managed to steal the cloth off Tracks as he made to brush it down the vents beside his faceplate.

Mirage pressed himself to Tracks' chassis, reaching around so that he could rub circles with the wet rag right between the racer's wing panel joints.

Tracks shuddered, helm tipping back. Mirage watched, hypnotised, as water poured down Track's faceplate. It was like that earth gem… red corundum… sparkling as the water bounced off and trailed down those ruby lips… Mirage savoured the vision…

Until Tracks tilted his head forward. They were so close, it was nigh on automatic for the experienced racer. Those diamond covered ruby lip components were suddenly pressed against Mirages' own.

Mirage let himself be taken by them, responding in kind as they pressed into him. He responded to Track's teasing glossa flicks by trailing his own along the racer's bottom lip.

* * *

**G1- Ratchet x Perceptor**

Digits, nimble and far too sneaky for their own good, slid up under his armour and caressed the outter wires gently. Perceptor gasped, a quivering ventilation that spread over his entire frame, making him tense before he recognised the touch and relaxed into it despite himself.

"I'm terribly busy, Ratchet… is there something you need?"

'Got all I need right here, Perceptor. It's more a case of what you need, actually."

Perceptor did not find it easy to fight against the ghosting touches under his armour and that low, purring, reverberating tone the white and red mech was using in his audio reciever from behind.

"Mmmm. I need to… finish this circuitry…"

"Yes. But you also need to unwind before you fritz your poor, overworked processor."

The white servos in his sides moved slowly down, one sliding around his front and moving up to run a thumb under his examination tray. The other traced seams in his hip plating, sneaking into gaps to stroke more of his wiring.

Perceptor let out an almost imperceptible groan of pleasure as his vents exhaled sharply.

"I'm not sure I have the energy to seek any…. _Nnnn_, tension relief." He breathed ruefully, unable to stop the heat that had begun radiating through his circuits as the medic pressed lightly into his back.

"You Don't need to expend any energy, I'll be doing all the work for you… afterall, your welfare is my function, so I _must _see to it as _best _as I _possibly _can." Ratchet purred in his audial, so very quietly and scintillatingly that despite Perceptor's best efforts he simply melted in the CMO's grasp.

Ratchet at least allowed him to settle his work and move it to a safe area on his desk before he allowed the medic to turn him around.

Ratchet's lips quickly found his throat tubing and Perceptor allowed a proper soft groan to leave his vocaliser. Only the CMO could convince him to down tools so readily… he knew Ratchet was right though, it was quite evident in the sudden exquisitely light feeling as the red and white mech's ministrations sent pleasure sweeping through him, driving away all the burdening lines of code related to circuit relays and designs and current patterns and voltage problems and-

"_oooooooooh__…"_ Perceptor _loved _it when Ratchet ran his glossa between his lines like that, it was so _exotic_, at least as far as the red and teal microscope was concerned.

Perceptor's digits slowly ran the length of Ratchet's arms, moving up to his shoulders and drawing the other closer as the medic got a firm hold on his aft and lifted him onto the now clear bench.

Perceptor had long stopped being uptight about interfacing on his work bench. Some things just weren't worth getting hung up on, even though it had taken Ratchet _and _Wheel jack a long time ( and several impromptu overloads) to convince him of this.

But then what was a little workbench mess when he could receive pleasure like this without having to do anything… a price worth paying, he had eventually realised, so when Ratchet quickly got down to business and retracted both their interface panels, Perceptor made no objection.

* * *

**Bay****'****verse-RotF - Fallen x Bumblebee**

The yellow scout wasn't sure how he had gotten into this mess.

All he'd wanted was some alone time, was that too much to ask? He was perfectly happy to run an indefinitely timed mission and keep Sam safe, and most of the time he wasn't even totally bitter about his vocaliser getting blown to bits a second time, after he'd only just regained it (thanks to contact with the Allspark) after a few annoying vorns.

But pit, everybody, even humans as far as he knew, had times when they just needed to be alone to please themselves rather than everyone else.

Besides, he was stressed, and self-interface always helped him when he was stressed.

He'd been really careful, he still had his sensors stretched out to make sure Sam and Mikaela and even those other two idiot humans were safe in the ruins. He had an alert active if he detected either of the twins coming out of recharge.

Now was the only time he was going to get to relax, and he would take it. He was even that little bit thankful that his vocal processor was kaput, because he didn't have to worry about being noisy.

The yellow mech auto-retracted his interface cover and began to tease out his spike, stroking it languidly and sighing through his vents, the starlight and few torches nearby glimmering off his plating and his servo as it languidly caressed the pressurising cord.

Bumblebee's ministrations were expert. He'd had too much free time while trying to locate Sam when he'd first come to earth. So many dead ends in his search, so many cycles hiding until the heat died down from S7. He was too good at this, but the thought only amused him, albeit in a sad way. If Jazz were still there, he'd be able to show him just how good he'd gotten. He couldn't think of that though, Jazz wouldn't want him to grieve like that. Instead he looked forward to Prowl's arrival. The tactician would certainly appreciate this.

And Primus, if he couldn't wait that long, Sideswipe wouldn't object to the attention when they got time.

Bumblebee stroked himself faster, settling on the image of the slender, graceful silver toughliner. Mmmmm, it made him remember Sunstreaker too, and a memory file of the first time he had interfaced with the both of them came up.

Bumblebee began to pant through his vents, shutting off his optics and letting the memory play. He touched his other servo to his chassis, recalling the caressess of the two large, strong, hot mechs as they had pressed him between them.

A small static hum left his vocaliser as pleasure flooded his systems and his pace on his spike picked up, imagining Sunstreaker's glossa was lavishing it with attention once more.

Now his sensors had still been quite alert to his surroundings, and the humans hadn't moved, nor had the small twin cybertronians stirred… yet quite suddenly Bumblebee's illusion was shattered by a strong, deep voice.

"I did not believe I would find anything so pleasing on this planet… but then here you are, proving me wrong, and I don't think I've ever liked being wrong so very much."

Bumblebee's optics, the moment they onlined, widened and whirled in tight focus at the sight that greeted him.

He scrabbled back against the small Pyramid against which he'd been resting, feeling suddenly foolish for being trapped in a rather open space. He made to retract his spike, but the Fallen moved faster.

The mech of legend pinned him bodily with one hand against the ancient stone (though admittedly it was only ancient to humans, and young compared to the monolithic creature looming over him) with the other, he grasped Bumblebee's still proudly pressurised spike, and began to softly stroke it.

Bumblebee quivered and let out a metallic whine and a bark of static. He kicked out viciously, but a single multi-clawed pede lazily decended on his own, holding them down and muting his struggles.

Bumblebee stared upward, horrified, into the smouldering, multi-faceted crimson optics of the ex-prime, and felt his spark quail in a way even Megatron had not been able to make it do.

The Fallen… only laughed, continuing his surprisingly gentle ministrations on the scout's interface cable.

"You have nothing to fear from me. You are no threat to me, but you do pose a delightful prospect, and I am not one to turn down an underling in need."

Bumblebee had a about a million retorts for the overgrown metal bonfire, but this was indeed one of those moments he cursed the lack of the ability to vocalise. And he didn't dare use his radio sound-clip cache… he didn't want to attract the attention of the others, they would only get hurt.

"Relax… it will only be me enjoying myself if you do not." the reverberating, rasping voice murmured in that still somewhat amused tone.

Bumblebee, not quite knowing why, stopped squirming and went limp. The moment he did, all the digits on the servo holding him down dove into his armour, tweaking and tickling sensitive wires and joints and transformation cogs.

Bumblebee couldn't help himself, he arched into the touch, vents gasping in the cool Egyptian night air.

It seemed to please the ancient cybertronian, because he let out a spine-strut tingling purr.

Bumblebee had allowed his optics to offline under the onslaught of sensation… he'd never felt _anything _like this… all those talented, deadly, but gentle digits probing his sensor net and working over his spike in a constant rolling pattern of exquisite bliss…

He couldn't find the processing power between the pleasure and keeping his sensors on his friends to wonder what exactly was going on and why. The fundamentals, as far as he could tell, were that the Fallen was… for lack of a better phrase, totally turned on seeing him self-service (and how he'd been watching Bumblebee neither knew nor cared) and had decided to act on his desires.

Primus, he was an infinitely powerful giant, but what was to say he didn't like an interface as good as the next mech? There _was _that tiny little problem with him being the original Decepticon, and, oh yea, he wanted to blow up earth's sun. But what was Bumblebee, a lone scout who amounted to little more than an insect, a _plaything _to this demi-god, supposed to do about all this?

He guessed the huge mechanoid was right. Either he simply go with what was happening or only one of them would enjoy themselves. The choice seemed appallingly easy to the small camaro, but he'd have to mentally berate himself later… right now those touches were getting more intense and his sensor net was flaring like a wildfire.

Quite suddenly, Bumblebee found himself turned over, facing the Pyramid. He clutched at the worn, crumbled stone surface and didn't struggle as the Fallen positioned him as he pleased.

Bumblebee felt a few of the digits that had been working his spike (some still were, and his vents were hitching and shuddering in response ) move down and enter his valve. He had already began to lubricate from the opening in reaction to the sensuous touches all over his body.

He gave a static laced whine as two metallic fingers pumped in and out of him in a staggered rhythm.

This didn't last long as he remained pressed against the rocky surface, aft held out, spinal strut arched and door-wings quivering.

Bumblebee gasped and a small screech, quickly silenced, left his vocaliser as he felt something large and hard and _hot _press against the entrance to his valve.

He suddenly felt a thrill of fear again… if that thing didn't fit, and he'd be _very _surprised if it did, what objection could he make?

Bumblebee let out a crackly whimper and shuddered, but to his great surprise, one of the giant, multi-digited servos slid from his front to his back, stroking it in what he could only call a soothing manner.

He was forced, by the touches, to relax slightly… and that was when the giant mech gave one quick, powerful thrust.

Bumblebee gasped and bucked…. And then _moaned_.

The sensations were _incredible…_

The mech was indeed huge, but somehow he seemed able to fill and stretch him without hurting him… pit, forget pain, Bumblebee had never felt so turned on by one single penetrative movement in his _life stream!_

The scout actually found himself panting, letting out staticy whines and twitching his hips in a silent plead for _more._

The Fallen let out a deep, purring chuckle and obliged, pulling back slowly, almost out completely, before thrusting swiftly forward again.

Bumblebee could only produce a hum as he quivered and arched and allowed the thrusts to drive him hard into the side of the pyramid. He knew it was scratching his paint but _he couldn't give a scrap._

The Fallen towered over his form, one servo now resting high above his form on the rocky monolith, supporting him as he hunched over the much smaller mechanoid, pounding into that delicious little sopping wet port, holding up the yellow mech's hips with his other servo, digits still pulling off that endearing little spike as he drove deeper, yet still carefully, into the scout.

Bumblebee whimpered and arched his back-strut further, door-wings flapping wildly as he clawed at the stone structure, sensor net going wild with raw ecstasy as he was filled and pounded so exquisitely by the Fallen. He supposed he should have expected that an ex-prime of all mechs would be one pit of an interfacer. Primus, he knew from experience how good Optimus was, and he was only a descendant of the original Primes, and here for some reason one of the originals had taken interest in him.

He didn't care why, and for a moment he forgot to care about the fact he was evil, because he suddenly felt hot ventilations over his door wings before a large glossa stroked hard across their surface. When the ancient mech bit down softly on the edge of one door panel, Bumblebee's charge released into a blindingly hard overload. Static filled his vision, audio receptors and broken vocaliser.

The Fallen let out a deep, sub-sonic rumble that shook his whole frame, only intensifying the energy discharge. Bumblebee barely felt his own release of transfluid onto the giant servo still stroking it vigorously over the sensation of molten liquid pouring into him from the huge metallic length buried deep in his valve. It was too much for his comparatively tiny frame and it backwashed around the large spike through tiny gaps, spurting from the scout's port and running down his black and yellow thighs in tickling rivulets, still almost too hot to bear.

The overload was like nothing else Bumblebee had ever experienced, and when the charge release finally petered out, he couldn't hold onto consciousness.

The Fallen supported the limp mech in one hand, pushing himself straight and carefully drawing the yellow scout off his spike.

He smiled to himself in satisfaction. That had definitely been worth his time. Not that it had taken much. Having got what he wanted (as he always should), he left the small, pretty little mech where he had found him, and left the way he had come, drawing on his infinite well of cosmic power and teleporting back to Megatron and his small band of troops.

When Bumblebee came online again… it might have all been a dream. A really vivid, really messed up, really _hot _dream…

Except for the copious amount of whatever the hell counted as Fallen-transfluid that was still seeping from his tingling port.

Bumblebee gave a soft, feedback filled groan, wincing as his sensors zinged with post-overload sensitivity when he tried to move.

That had all been… highly irregular. Incredible, sensational, but exceptionally strange none-the-less.

His processor still fuzzy in the afterglow though, all Bumblebee could think to do was clean himself up and get some recharge. He may have to ask Ratchet and Ironhide some stuff about the original Primes to discern wether this had been like a seeker thing (seekers were notorious for their libidos and would basically face anything that moved if in the mood) or wether it was something he really should be worried about.

Either way, despite any feelings of confusion or guilt… he couldn't help knowing he would probably never get an interface quite like that again, and the thought disappointed him greatly.


	3. Chapter 3 Happy Bday Laura

_This is a very special update!!!_

_It's only a single one-shot, but it's a special request piece for_

_ZOMGITSALAURA_

_Happy Birthday! Hope 19 works better for you than it did for me lol, 19 is when i got uber jaded against birthdays, which is why i'm keen to make others enjoy their birthdays the way i can't anymore lol._

_Everyone knows the only present worth getting is a hot serving of mechsmut._

_So without further adoooooo, i give you naked Bayverse Jazz and half nekkid Prowl, full kit and caboodle sticky and spark, and a little bit of fluff tease at the end lol._

_Enjoy!_

_~Death out  
_

* * *

Jazz sat on his berth in the NEST base, doing what could only be described as sulking.

Ratchet had confined him to quarters while the medic went about repairing pretty much all his armour.

Primus he'd given him such a chewing out! It wasn't _his _fault devastator had formed right over him and sucked him up.

He hadn't come anywhere near death, but his outer armour had been sufficiently ruined that he couldn't change into his alt. mode, and now he'd had to strip down to his bare protoform and wait an indefinite amount of time for the medic to have enough of it repaired for him to at least walk around the base.

He didn't mind being stripped to his bare inner plating. _He _wasn't over-sensitive about mechs seeing most of his inner workings, not when he knew and trusted every autobot on base. And it wasn't like the humans could tell if a giant alien robot was essentially naked.

It wasn't even Prime or Ratchet's talk about officers needing to show some decency that was keeping him locked away.

No, he had a better reason for that.

He was only staying here because Prowl wanted him to. Because Prowl didn't like the idea of other mechs getting to see his bare form. No, Jazz thought with a wide grin, Prowl wanted to keep that privilege all to himself. Especially given the saboteur's spark… his _bonded _spark was just visible to the world through a small window in his chest-plating.

Jazz was only sulking because Prowl hadn't come back yet, and he was getting bored. And Prowl should know better than to let him get bored.

Checking his internal chronometer, Jazz smirked deviously.

He arranged himself on the berth, making sure anyone who walked through the door would get an optic-full, and then he made sure he was comfortable before parting the thin plating just covering his interface circuitry.

As Jazz played a digit over his spike housing and trailed it down over his valve, he opened up the bond and hummed in satisfaction as he felt Prowl perk up curiously. The light, expectant enquiry from Prowl's end was met by a shiver of pleasure from Jazz's side.

Jazz smiled, feeling Prowl react in a torn way, both enjoying the transmitted sensation and grumpily scolding over the connection. Obviously he was trying to work and didn't want such distractions as Jazz's arousal to interrupt him… however, he didn't close the bond. Jazz's smile got even wider and he pressed more fingers to his interface equipment, stroking firmly, rubbing teasingly. He transmitted the sensations loud and clear over the bond, and emphasised it with a mental moan.

He could almost _see _Prowl's door-wings quiver.

Jazz knew Prowl was putting on a front went he sent a wave of irritation. The irritation was probably directed at whatever work was keeping him from Jazz.

The saboteur decided to seal the deal for his beautiful black and white. Biting his bottom lip component, he drew his other hand up his exposed chassis, across the smooth protoform plating, until he reached the small gap above his spark chamber.

Delicately, he slipped two metal fingers in and stroked the outer casing, flinging the bond wide open and arching into his own touch with a gasp and an unsuppressed moan.

Prowl's end of the bond went very quiet.

Jazz felt a little confused… he'd expected more of a reaction than that… Prowl hadn't closed the bond, but he wasn't getting anything from it, not an inkling of the tactician's feelings.

Jazz decided to persist, stroking his spark casing again, his energon pump quickening and cooling vents whirring into action.

Still he felt no response to the stimulation from Prowl.

He growled softly, extending his cable, and was about to start a double onslaught of sensation to the bond when he suddenly got on overwhelming wave of _stop right there_ from Prowl.

Shocked by the intensity of the command, Jazz did as he was bid… and a moment later, the door pad pinged and it slid open.

Prowl slipped inside quickly and locked the door behind him, smouldering azure optics falling on Jazz, who was still displaying himself all over the berth, frozen in place with one servo on his extended spike and the other in his chest plates.

"…_Now _you may continue." Prowl purred softly.

Jazz felt a thrill of hot anticipation, a wide, cheeky grin splitting his faceplate. He plunged his fingers into his chest again and began to stroke his cord at the same time, letting out a long, loud moan as he did so.

He saw Prowl's entire frame quiver, his bond mate both seeing and feeling and _oh _what it did to his circuits…

It didn't take Prowl long to move to the berth. He so wanted to touch the smooth, lithe, beautiful bare form of his bond mate… truth be told he'd been dying to since he'd seen him stripped of his mangled armour in Ratchet's med-bay.

Jazz moaned as Prowl's white digits slid over his plating. The tactician took Jazz's silver fingers away from his spark and leaned forward, claiming his lips and beginning a thorough exploration of his love's bared protoform.

Jazz leant back and sighed through his vents, thoroughly enjoying the sensation of Prowl's hands claiming him, mapping every inch of exposed metal, dipping lightly into seams, while he explored Jazz's mouth with his glossa (although that bit he knew off by spark).

In return, Jazz slid his fingers over Prowl's white and black frame, tweaking all the known sensors (and all were definitely known by now), making the SIC gasp and moan into his mouth.

The heat between them quickly grew, but it positively rolled off of Jazz when the nimble white digits swept over his spark housing and then dipped into the gap.

They both shuddered, Prowl feeling the repercussions of his ministrations through the bond as Jazz's spark pulsed hard and flared with lust.

Suddenly they were grinding against one another, and it was as if they just couldn't get close enough, like something was in the way.

"I wish I had been standing beside you." Prowl uttered, gasping through his vents as his circuits sweltered with raw desire for his smooth, exquisite lover as he writhed beneath him, the beautiful clear blue light of his spark peeking out of his armour in a way that just aroused him no end. He felt his own spark pressing for Jazz, straining against it's casing.

"Why's that?" Jazz replied heatedly, visor glowing a deep, sensuous blue.

"Because I would have been left with no armour as well… it feels so very in the way at the moment." Prowl replied in a deep, longing tone.

Jazz smiled coyly up at him. "I was hopin ya'd feel that way." he purred, before his fingers swiftly and deftly found every catch on Prowl's chassis armour and promptly went about removing it.

When the plating that made up the front bumper of his alt mode was gone, Prowl's own smooth, broad protoform plating was exposed, and just visible through a gap like Jazz's was his crystalline shinning azure spark.

Prowl's door wings quivered, still attached to his back armour.

The bond-mates drank in the sight of each other for a few astroseconds before they came together once more, servos trailing expertly to each other's helms, petting audio fins and chevron points, moving down to slip into gaps to stroke joints, wires, sensitive transformation cogs, all the while their glossa tangled together and trailed down jaw-lines and neck cables, lapping and teasing, denta nibbling and nipping and caressing. They were a jumbled mass of heated noises and buzzing ventilations and pleasurable sensations.

Jazz slipped both hands up Prowl's aft, stroking up seams in back plating before diving unmercilessly into his door-wing hinges.

Prowl let out a small cry of bliss, arching and pressing his bare chest plates into Jazz's, who moaned as they both felt their sparks pulse in synchronised desire, being _so _close but still confined to their protective casings.

Jazz wanted Prowl's spark badly… but he wanted something else too. Something he was keen not to forget, and not let Prowl overlook. As nice as Spark only overloads were, right now he wanted to make full use of his total lack of armour.

While Jazz kept one servo playing on the tacticians back sensor panels, the other went about detaching the black pelvic plating grinding so deliciously against his own.

Prowl made no move to stop him, but once the plating had been discarded by his chest armour, he extended his spike, which pressurised easily and rubbed against his lover's.

The two hummed and moaned in satisfaction as they relished the sensations of their sensor laden equipment moving together.

But their charge was now so high, neither felt much like lingering too long on teasing or foreplay.

Without even having to use their servos, they lined up with one another, and without difficulty… as if purpose built to fit together, they slid their spikes into one another's ports.

Both gasped and moaned with the pleasure made doubly intense, shared and echoed and rebounded through the bond.

They moved feverishly against one another once again, and _oh _it was such a thrill, the feeling of bare plating against bare plating… the barely ever touched sensors lining their base surfaces lighting up in a way new to both on them.

Prowl was able to press his pelvic gimble flush against Jazz's, with no extraneous armour to hinder the connection. He pressed deep into the saboteur's port, and Jazz responded by tilting his own pelvis up to gain deeper access into Prowl.

Their lubricants mixed, wet and warm and smelling so familiar and heady.

They moved against one another, still petting and stroking and stimulating, but harder now, their lips not parting as their vents whirred. Unlike humans, they had no need for air via their facial orifices, something they were both especially grateful for, as it meant no interruptions to their contact was necessary.

They moved in one another, grunting and moaning and keening as spikes plunged, pressed and stroked and set off sensors, causing bolts of pleasure to rocket through their frames and circuits. Primus, Prowl could feel every zing of electricity under that shiny, dark silver protoform plating.

He pressed his chest close to Jazz's once more, and this time, both granted their sparks wishes to escape their confines and reach out to one another.

Prowl felt a thrill of excitement that was as much his as it was Jazz's. They'd never had their spark chambers so physically close when merging, armour usually got in the way, and removing it during a war was just not done, at all costs.

Right now however, neither cared as base plating shifted and parted and the light, of two brilliant pale sapphire sparks, bathed each others forms.

They broke their kiss, pressing helms together and looking between them as they closed the gap entirely and felt each other's essence press into the other, welcomed and warm and blissful beyond belief.

They clutched and gasped and moaned, pressing as hard into one another as they could, hips still twitching and grinding and moving to spike their unbelievable pleasure further, until their sparks fully merged and completeness took them both.

They both cried out in ecstasy, quivering as overload swept through them, both feeling the warm flood of the other's electrolytic transfluid filling their clenching, tingling ports.

Memories and emotions and indescribable love swirled between their life essences, twining them together, and all of it was merely a pleasant reminder because none of it was new to them, nothing had changed for thousands of vorns, and they never got tired of feeling it, nor of the blinding happiness and processor blowing pleasure they got from feeling one another so deeply and so acutely.

And yet this time felt more intense than ever, with bare protoform plating pressing close, spark-case to spark-case, it lasted twice as long and felt twice as intense, and when it finally ebbed and they parted in reassured warmth back into their own bodies, they were offlined by the magnitude of the energy exchange and discharge.

They were content to fall into stasis, still interlocked and pressed flush against one another… unfortunately they did not feel that over-warm sensation in either of their spark chambers that heralded a change in their shared energies.

There was another reason bulky armour and distanced interface capabilities were preferential during a war. Apart from keeping a mech protected at all times from attack…

But it wasn't like Optimus Prime's army hadn't faced raising sparklings in the middle of war zones before.

And refresher courses were good in these sorts of things…

Right?

Well… a few joors later, that was Jazz's excuse anyway.

Prowl unfortunately couldn't give an excuse for his new burden. His logic circuits and battle computer had decided to have a disagreement again after Ratchet's diagnosis, and the medic was resignedly trying to un-crash his CPU.


	4. Chapter 4

_Shit i've messed up my document titles and im confusing myself on my computer now. LOL_

_anyway, did a 10 comment Meme on LJ and got 6 people throwing prompts at me, and here's the result._

_First three are non-smut, last three are total shameless Prowlcentric smutfests._

_Nothing is spell checked, this is all just spat out as is with minimal re-reading and fixing stupid auto-correct fuckups.  
_

_First one: listen to '1234' by Pitbull on Youtube lol._

_second: _PROMPT: 'Upon unanimous agreement, The Glitter Incident was never to be repeated nor spoken of ever again. This, nevertheless, wouldn't stop the Twins from trying it on the Decepticons a year later.'

_third:I like Warpath, but he acts sped. which is probably why i like him._

_forth: Wow totally in a mood for that one, thats my massively soft side right there, ffffffffff i do love fluff in the right situations._

_fifth: I quite like Prowl x OP in any verse, works to me, especially done in the right light. Id've done G1, but TFA came easier._

_sixth: go read WICKED3659's fic on LJ first, it's worth it, it's called 'Word of Mouth' . here's a link, take out the spaces: _http: //wicked3659. livejournal. #cutid1

_The drabble is based on that fic and is a SPOILER, and it really is an awesome short fic, so please do go read it!_

_K well thats about all, Death out~  
_

* * *

**ProwlxBeexSunny G1 ~mewmew_kaitie  
**

"C'mon Bee, I know you have it in you, just one dance! If it's gonna be any song tonight make it this one, pleeeeeeease-"

"OK, ok, but I swear Jazz, I don't know what I'm doing, I'm just going to look like an idiot."

Bumblebee replied resignedly with a sigh of his vents.

The saboteur beamed at him regardless, nearly skipping back into the middle of the Rec. Room with the spy in tow.

The mechs on the 'dance floor' took little to no notice at the inclusion of the yellow minibot among their ranks.

Bumblebee moved self consciously, not doing much more than stepping to the beat and doing a few small arm movements. He smiled at Jazz, who was pulling his usual fluid (and flawlessly fantastic) dance moves, fitting right in with the lights and Blaster's audio shattering music as if he'd been manufactured for this.

"Now I _know _you can do better than that Bee, just _listen _to it… ya can do it in mah quarters, it's the same thing here, 'cept ya let it _really _move ya, and forget about anyone else, they ain't important." Jazz purred to him, dancing close and giving him a smouldering look.

Bumblebee gave him a weak smile and bit his bottom lip. Only for Jazz would he agree to make such a fool of himself. But if it made him happy…

The minibot really listened, and found he quite liked the heavy beat and the tempo. He had watched Jazz dance all night… it wasn't like he hadn't picked anything up. He started attempting some of the sequences the Porsche had been using as staples. He fell into a pretty easy rhythm… it wasn't as bad as he had imagined… in fact, it was coming quite easily to him now.

He threw Jazz a look and noticed the saboteur was positively beaming at him again, watching him and giving out a triumphant laugh.

"That's it Bee, you got it!" He called over the music.

Bumblebee would have replied, but something flashed between them and blocked Jazz from his view.

Bumblebee's dancing stalled slightly, until he saw it was Sunstreaker who had started dancing in front of him.

The challenge in the golden toughliner's optics was also an invitation, and Bumblebee flashed the Lambo twin a saucy smile, knowing any sign of his less meek side perked Sunstreaker's interest.

Bumblebee soon found himself lost in the music again, hearing Jazz laugh incredulously as he danced with Sunstreaker, who's moves were decidedly more erotic that the yellow spy's.

Bumblebee giggled, catching Sunstreaker's darkening optics and Jazz's melodramatic look of hurt at being ditched by his dance partner.

Suddenly, Sunstreaker's face went blank and he paused mid move as he went to body roll against Bumblebee.

The golden warrior's optics were fixed on something behind the spy, and Bumblebee turned to find…

Prowl?

Prowl's expression was slightly aloof, door-wings swept back in a 'V' and his optics a deep cerulean… an expression Bumblebee had come to realise was jealousy from the tactician.

Prowl held out a servo to Bumblebee, expression not faltering, but optics flashing enticingly at him. The minibot could have sworn there was the barest hint of a smile wanting to break through the façade.

Bumblebee gave Prowl a curious look and took the proffered servo.

_:Keep your channel open, I__'m going to wirelessly stream you some moves:_

Bumblebee's optics widened as he allowed the taller black and white mech to sweep him away a few steps.

_:Er, OK__… you know moves?:_

Prowl gave him a crooked smile in reply and his optics flashed again.

_:I couldn__'t be with Jazz and NOT know moves:_

Bumblebee could only nod in response before he locked onto the wireless data signal the tactician opened with him and began executing the commands. The technology was usually employed by the tactician for battle manouvres in tight situations, but apparently he knew how to utilise it for recreational means as well, something that surprised and delighted Bumblebee, and he wondered if Jazz knew.

Speaking of Jazz, Bumblebee flashed the saboteur a smile as the Porsche stood on the sidelines, watching them, dumbfounded.

Bumblebee winked at him and continued to do what he suspected was some form of a human dance called a rumba.

Had he not then been entranced by the sight and feel of dancing with Prowl, who was stunningly agile on the dance floor, that cool, aloof look still firmly on his face, he may have noticed half the other mechs on the floor had stopped to watch them, many with mouths agape.

"Jazz… is… is Prowl… are you… did you do this? Are you trying to fritz our processors or something?" Sideswipe asked over the music, sidling up beside the now smiling Porsche.

"No man, this is all them, I had nothing' ta do with it." Jazz replied happily, optics never leaving the sight of his lovers performing a steaming hot routine.

"I think… I think Prowl just threw down the gauntlette. At ME." Sunstreaker said incredulously from Jazz's other side.

"Nah Sunny dude, you threw down the gauntlette, Prowl just picked it up and slapped ya in the faceplate with it." Jazz laughed, glancing around to find Tracks and Trailbreaker had joined them immobile on the sidelines with looks of gob smacked disbelief on their faceplates.

"I think you lost bro." Sideswipe sniggered as Prowl did some close contact moves with the beetle, Bumblebee's optics getting dark to match the tacticians.

"Well ya know what they say, if ya can't beat em, join em!" Jazz laughed, jumping forward to join his partners.

It took Sunstreaker another moment to process the situation before Sideswipe tugged his elbow and gave him a determined, evil grin before they both jumped in to try and regain the minibot's attention.

* * *

**Twins/Decepticons - G1 ****'the glitter incident' ~Nike_victory  
**

"Hey Starscream…"

"_What _Skywarp? Can't you shut your vocaliser during battle manouvres? Concentrate on hitting Autobots!"

"But, don't you see that?"

"…See _What?_"

"Those… sparkly things coming towards us?"

"Hey…. He's right Starscream, there's something…it's all glittery… theres two…"

"Primus, if it's bothering you, shoot it!" The air commander said irritably as he looped around with his wing mates, turning to see what on earth had them spooked like Petro-rabbits.

After a moment of adjusting his optics to the sudden glare, he registered the sight of two large, undeniably shiny objects heading straight for them from the ground.

"Hey, that looks like-" Thundercracker rumbled warily.

"And are they…" Skywarp mumbled.

"…covered in _Glitter? _What the frag, those pit-spawned Twins have really lost it!" Thundercracker said not a little bit apprehensive sounding.

"Don't you two dare break formation! Attack already, attack!" Starscream screeched, opening fire on the two sparkling Autobots jetting their way.

"Ack! My targeting array isn't working!" Skywarp hollered, nearly swerving into one of his commander's tail stabilising wings.

"My visual scanners are getting messed up, what the _frag!_" Thundercracker barked.

As the twins came upon them the seekers were unable to avoid the attack, so dazzled were they by the reflection of the bright sunlight off the expanse of both twin's brilliantly glittery armour plating.

"Well, I'd say that was a resounding success!" Sideswipe chimed as he lay on his front on a medical berth while Ratchet grumbled and worked to patch up a hole in his lower back.

Sunstreaker shot him a murderous glare as he rubbed furiously at his own armour with stripping solvent.

"Until the 'Cons who weren't close enough to have their sensors dazzled noticed us and we became nice big glittery targets. By the way, 'Sides, if I can't get this all off with one bottle of solvent, I'm going to find some sealing agent, change your sparkles to pink, and then laquer the lot so you can't get it off." Sunstreaker growled, sneering in disgust at the swathe of gold sparklies that came off his plating and onto his cleaning cloth.

"Yes, I do suggest that we shelve the dazzle-armour tactic permanently now, it doesn't seem to work as effectively as we'd hoped… apart from that it's rather messy." Prowl said nonchalantly as he brushed red and gold glitter specks off his arm while he sat in another berth with Wheeljack re-attaching one of his door-wings.

"Still say don't knock it till you try it. I reckon Jazz would be all over you if you did." Sideswipe said mischievously, craning his neck around to see the tactician give him a stony look with one orbital ridge raised.

"Pfff. Are you kidding? Jazz has way more taste than that. Glitter paintwork is so 119th megacycle." Sunstreaker drawled at his brother distainfully.

"It might be outdated, but you guys shoulda seen Ironhide back then, he made it look good like no mech's business." Ratchet piped up with uncharacteristic cheer.

The four other mechs shared blank looks as the image popped into their processors, and a silent agreement seemed to form that the topic was over and would never again be raised.

* * *

**G1 Warpath -moody ~Flamingmarsh  
**

The red Tank sat hunched on a couch in the rec. room, sipping his energon alone.

Every bot he'd met today had asked him if he was OK.

He couldn't even go to his shared quarters for some peace, Brawn wouldn't quit giving him those weird concerned looks.

Honestly, you'd think he wasn't _allowed _to feel a little less upbeat. OK true, he usually had something to say and an enthusiastic onomatopoeic word to express his good mood, but Primus, he just didn't _feel _like it today. He kinda wanted a bit of… peace and quiet. Yea, his name was Warpath and yea, most of the time he was up for some action with energy to spare, but today he just needed a break.

But he couldn't get one, because everyone on the Ark seemed to think he was just a one-dimensional grunt who liked to blow slag up.

Well, he did like to blow slag up, but right now he felt like doing it because he was annoyed rather than for the thrill of the energy rush.

_You know, BLAM, I would be slaggin OK if no-one, POW, asked me if I was feelin alright. BLAM, it fried my circuits that they don__'t think there's, BOOM, anything more to me than the weapon-happy-tanker, ZAP. _He thought to himself, feeling distinctly more surly as he finished his cube and decided to head over to the target range to blow some stuff up and make himself feel better.

* * *

**G1** **Prowl x Bee ~regretfuldragon  
**

Bumblebee gasped and vented long and deep as he rocked against the berth under the white and black frame. His small black servos stroked lovingly over the white helm, cherishing and intimately detailing the brilliant red chevron that dipped to accommodate his reach, it's owner running tender kisses over his helm and horns.

Bumblebee hitched his legs up further, letting out a soft, blissful mewl as Prowl plunged deeper into him with slow, powerful strokes, lighting up his sensor net as he filled his valve. It was so intense, so heady, Bumblebee lost himself in Prowl and likewise the tactician drank In the yellow spy's cries of delight, loving utterly the way he moved beneath him, their plating scraping as their ecstasy built.

They didn't need words anymore**. **They needed sensations, they needed the thrum of the other's life force, and as Prowl hilted himself in the minibot and connected to him, their chest plates parted in synchrony, both gasping and clutching at one another.

Eagerly they pressed close, the tactician careful not to settle his entire weight on his partner as they closed the distance between their sparks.

Their essences reached out to one another, and even as they came together so keenly in body, their sparks seemed to connect almost tentatively, gently, melting slowly and wonderfully into one another as if to savour the motion entirely.

The two mechs moaned and cycled quick vents against the others plating as pure, indescribable pleasure came from the completeness of the bond.

Oh, no mech on the Ark would believe this was true, probably not even if they witnessed it first hand, but Bumblebee felt nothing but pure devotion to Prowl, a feeling echoed mutual through their merged cores. Both had sides that no one else saw, had hurts no one else could heal, and nothing had ever fulfilled them like this.

Even as overload exploded through their joined frames and sparks, they clung to one another as though they never wanted to let go, each the salvation of the other, almost loving that this was their secret…. Their own private saving grace. They didn't care if no one knew, or understood, or would ever. Nothing mattered except that they could remain like this. A better idea of their future, neither could imagine.

* * *

**TFA Prowl x Optimus ~wicked3659**

Prowl wished he cared more about what he was doing. By all rights, with his circuit-su training he should have more self-control, but…

He didn't want to control this. He didn't want to think anymore, thinking wasn't getting him anywhere, he wanted to feel again, he had felt so alone, and so cold, wandering space with no purpose, no real idea of where he was going or what he'd do once there. Just that… endless and unobtainable goal to find his spark.

Well, his spark didn't seem to be objecting too much to what his body wanted and was getting right now.

It would bother him more that he was being lavished with attention by a mech he'd barely met, but something in the commander had struck a chord with him. This Optimus Prime… a title that was merely a nod to the completion of his training, but a bot with ghosts and grief who wasn't at all where he should be. Yes… Prowl could definitely sympathise. He could sympathise so well that he was currently digging his fingers under Optimus Prime's plating, eliciting a gasp and a shuddering moan from the larger, powerful mech.

Prowl allowed a mewl to escape his own vocaliser in turn as the not-quite-Prime delved his spike gently deeper into the ninja-bot's long untouched port.

Prowl felt himself constrict deliciously around the other mech and he bit down gingerly on the plating of Optimus' shoulder, his body quivering from the hips as delicious and long forgotten sensations of ecstasy thrilled through his systems.

He knew it was merely a carnal pleasure, but he had to admit, as Optimus 'faced him with obviously experienced skill and tenderness, he would gladly pay the penance of a hundred cycles of meditation to clear his mind to experience this again.

* * *

**Wicked****'verse- 'Word of Mouth' Prowl x Jazz ~zomgitsalaura**

Jazz was bored. Supremely bored. And tempted. Oh so tempted. It was a dangerous mix. But only for one mech in particular.

Prowl was addressing the humans on the other side of the video conference.

There were only 5 mechs in the meeting room. Optimus, Prowl, Jazz, Ratchet and Ironhide. Jazz figured he'd get away with it.

Prowl was having what Jazz was sure was an intensely interesting conversation about field stratergies with several army generals, who miraculously seemed as engaged by the subject as the black and white door-winger.

Smirking to himself, Jazz decided it was time to test something out that he'd been curious about for a while.

He discreetly extended a link up cable from his wrist and connected into a port in the table console that connected wirelessly to their internal note making and textual information sharing. It was easier to scroll each other messages via their intra-net connected data-pads and consoles while speaking aloud with the humans, that way they could run several discussions and topics and ideas at once without interrupting the human's side of the meeting. Cybertronians could multi-task much more efficiently than the organics.

Whether they actually did so in an efficient manner was a matter Prowl would attest to as being a major problem. More often than not, the side conversations texting across their data pads had nothing to do with agenda items and involved more idle chit-chat and running commentary than anything. Nevertheless, Prowl watched the silent conversation of his comrades out of the corner of his optics even as he spoke to Major Herssey about the most efficient means to organise a counter strike in the event of a Decepticon attack upon the larger power stations in Europe.

Prowl's attention flickered to the text window of his data-pad as he noted Jazz had entered the silent conversation at last. He had expected the saboteur to be quipping things throughout the meeting, but up 'till now he'd been silent. Therefore, he read curiously the Porsche's silence breaking comment.

**:Hey Prowler, that plan of yours sounds pretty **_**sweet.**_**:**

The humans gave Prowl a curious look through the vid-feed as his vocaliser faltered and a strong shudder ran through his frame.

Ratchet spared the tactician a curious look, but the other mechs in the room seemed not to have noticed, apparently having tuned out the SIC breems ago to the point they didn't notice him falter.

Jazz, on the other servo, grinned wickedly.

Apparently the trigger worked just as well when Prowl read it as when he heard it.

Jazz quickly schooled his faceplates into blank but polite interest as prowl reset his vocaliser and threw him a filthy look.

The moment Prowl turned back, Jazz allowed his face to break back into it's wicked grin.

He realised Ratchet had caught his expression. The Medic didn't send him a text reply as comprehension dawned on the red and white's face, but Jazz could tell from the look in the CMO's optics that he was not going to discourage his behaviour.

Jazz posted one or two more comments with the trigger word hidden in them, but Prowl, door-wings held high and stiff, refused pointedly to look at his data-pad anymore.

Jazz bit his bottom lip, smile only getting bigger and visor a deeper blue. The saboteur easily hacked the vid-screen which displayed information transmitted from the humans to the Ark about their battle plans.

A new piece of data was streamed across the screen, and Prowl's optics automatically darted to it to super-speed absorb the new data-packet. He had a micro-klik to frown before the message was processed…

**:The way the humans include the contingency plan for possible injuries to us and how to get us to safety is kinda **_**sweet.**_**:**

Prowl gasped and made an ungainly static-laced chocking noise as he staggered very slightly back into the table. He grasped it hard, door-wings quivering violently. His cooling fans gave a loud whirr before settling to a quieter pace as his systems reset.

Not only were the humans now looking at him utterly bewildered, this being the second time his dryly delivered tactics had been interrupted mid-sentence, but other mechs in the room had noticed this time.

Ironhide was giving Prowl a look like he'd just said something about planting flowers around the Ark, Optimus gave him a curious, if not slightly concerned look. Ratchet had an evil grin to match Jazz's, enjoying the diversion quite as much as the saboteur was.

Prowl mumbled a small apology to the humans as he straightened, wings twitching and arching high in a 'V' as he turned his back on the screen and glared at Jazz, lips pressed tight together.

Jazz gave him an innocent smile and canted his head slightly to the side as though enquiring what the problem was.

Prowl's optics had gone dark and he was obviously struggling to keep his frame from quivering and fans from kicking on full-bore.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to convene our conference sirs, it would seem I have some personal matters to deal with. I will get back to you soon to arrange an appropriate meeting in the near future." Prowl said curtly, turning to collect his data-pads, giving Optimus a very brief formal salute to ask permission to leave, which the Prime granted him with a look of deepening concern in his optics (he hadn't seen Jazz's messages).

The humans had given him curious looks and nods, and Prowl turned on his heel, leaving with a ram-rod straight back-strut.

Just as he reached the door and palmed it open, Jazz looked over his shoulder and called. "We'll miss ya sweet-spark."

There was a clatter of falling data pads as Prowl tripped out the door with a loud cry, crashing to the floor while Jazz and Ratchet sniggered heartily at the poor mech's expense.


	5. Chapter 5

_Oh hush, i know its taken forever for me to give you more. And to start that list of ten drabble prompts i took like, 6 months ago. I've started on them here, as well as some other shit. Mostly smut, some not, hope you enjoy, and sorry to Flamingmarsh... it was too much to bear XD_

_Also i may have posted some of the earlier ones on LJ? Possibly the first, i dont remember, its been ages, hopefully hardly anyone/ no one saw/remembers and can just... enjoy it like its fresh XD_

_Yea im a tease in some. No dont ask me about my other stories, they're all coming along, just slowly.  
_

_~Death Out  
_

* * *

**G1- Wicked****'Verse: Mirage x Bumblebee **

Mirage followed the other mech down the halls rather quickly. No one stopped them, assuming their haste had something to do with work, given they were both top espionage agents under Jazz.

As it was, they'd finished their work, and thank Primus for that, Mirage was tired of the stress from this particular mission. It had been sprung on them both so suddenly, which was usually the way given they couldn't plan their missions aloud to prevent tipping the 'Cons off, but all the same at least Mirage usually had a feeling or an inkling before something really big went down. But not this time.

It had been just as hard on Bumblebee (if not harder) for the last 42 cycles.

And it was just as well Mirage could count on one thing and had cleared his schedule for their return. He needed this as much as his fellow spy.

Once inside, Bumblebee was glad to find his room-mate had wisely vacated their shared quarters. It was an… almost embarrassing routine for the yellow minibot, but right now he didn't care. At least he didn't have to say anything to Gears, the mech simply knew he didn't want to be in there upon Bumblebee and Mirage's return.

Bumblebee wordlessly led the taller Blue and white mech to his berth, and Mirage sat by him, immediately plunging forward and kissing the other spy hard.

Mirage couldn't say he looked forward to these times with Bumblebee as much as he did, say, an appointment with Hound. But it was certainly satisfying to no end to have a mech he could count on to relieve his tension in a sympathetic manner. And what was more he could always count on the minibot never to hurt him while he gave him a good hard 'facing.

It was kind of funny, really, he thought as he allowed Bumblebee to coax him down onto his berth while the minibot's very skilled servos worked over his chassis… Bumblebee would never be like this any other time, demanding and rough interfacing just weren't in his nature. At least, not until after a long mission stuck in the air vents of the Nemesis dodging ravage's tracking skills and ripping as much information out of the place as possible without triggering any alarms.

The stress of those missions wound them both up so tight that it didn't do them any good to delay in getting it out of their systems the moment they returned to the Ark.

Occasionally Jazz joined them, if he'd been on the mission with them, but more often than not he was managing it from outside and only went in as back-up. His specialty was more solo missions when he didn't need them or mid-battle sabotage.

Mirage gasped and let out a small cry of pleasure as those small black servos dipped beneath his plating and clawed over his transformation cogs.

If there was one thing he had to say about Bumblebee, he was the only mech that could get so _deep _into his seams, and Primus was the sensory feedback intense!

Mirage allowed himself to be lost in Bumblebee's forceful but not unpleasant ministrations, kissing the small yellow mech furiously and grinding their crotch-plates together.

Bumblebee moaned, clutching tightly to Mirage's frame as the soft '_shik_' announced the retracting of both their interface covers.

Small black digits immediately went south and plunged into Mirage, earning Bumblebee a cry of delight as he slid them in at just the right angle and began to stimulate the valve walls.

Bumblebee felt himself relax a little better as he watched the blissful expression on Mirage's faceplates as he felt around that _beautifully _crafted valve. Primus but he wished he had lived in the towers, if everything they had there was as nice as Mirage's valve, Bumblebee had never owned such nice things in his life, and it saddened him to remember that the Decepticons had stripped Cybertron bare of it's towers and the nobles within.

He pressed deep, in and out, measured and forceful strokes that had the other spy writhing on his berth, bringing a coy smile to his face under deepening optics.

Mirage held Bumblebee's gaze, hearing the smaller mech's cooling fans kick on under the seeming roar of his own. Oh _Primus _yes, he needed this! But he wasn't about to forget Bumblebee, and after all, it was the minibot's chits being used up here. Not that the yellow spy ever complained about this, it was about the only time he ever used them, but it was worth every Klik.

Mirage forced himself up, and the yellow bot didn't stop pumping him with his fingers until Mirage physically moved his pelvis out of reach.

The ligier caught the small servo that had been inside him and took Bumblebee's fingers in his mouth, sucking his own lubricant off them as he got on his elbows and coaxed Bumblebee to lean back now.

The smaller mech panted and moaned at the feel of that warm mouth and the very thought of Mirage cleaning his own essence from his fingers.

A shiver ran down his back strut as Mirage played his other hand around the Black and yellow's spike housing.

It didn't take long to coax the reasonably proportioned cord from it's housing, and Mirage wasted no time drawing it out to it's full length by wrapping his mouth around it and sucking hard.

Bumblebee cried out in earnest, lust burning through his circuits as a black servo flew to Mirages' helm.

The minibot toyed with the delicate, gracefully curved vents on either side of the ligier's faceplate, gasping and mewling as Mirage moaned around his spike.

**G1- PB&JxSkyfire**

Prowl didn't care HOW he had gotten there anymore. He didn't continue to wonder how on earth Bumblebee had talked him into this, because all that mattered was the feeling of Skyfires impressive spike filling him absolutely. He moaned wantonly as the girth of it impaled him deliciously, lighting up every sensor as one of the large scientist's curious hands explored his door-wings.

Bumblebee muffled Prowl's loud moans with a smiling kiss, rubbing the tactician's chevron softly.

"I told you you'd like it." he purred with a grin as he pulled away, only to close the distance between them once more to nuzzle and kiss and lick Prowl's left audio.

Jazz busied himself drinking in the tactician's cries as he languidly pleasured both the Datsun's proudly pressurised spike and Skyfire's large, dripping port. The Porsche rubbed his frame against the tactician's as Prowl squirmed and mewled and bucked. A deep, rumbling purr came from the red and white jet, who's optics had dimmed as he adjusted to the tight, wet heat engulfing him as he pressed slowly into the autobot's SIC.

_Primus _Bumblebee had been right… Prowl was doing things for him that he'd never even contemplated… the way he positively came alive when turned on, and the sounds! The jet stroked a curious, large white digit over the leading edge of a quivering door wing, grinning at the loud reaction he got. Even when interfacing he was still a scientist, and most _definitely _an explorer…

When Prowl began to grind his hips impatiently, the jet, supporting the datsun with a hand on his midriff plating, easily moved the black and white frame upwards. His hips rolled his large spike back out of the tactician's dripping port, feeling it clench as if to try and keep it there. When his spike hub was nearly out of the SIC's valve, Skyfire pressed back into Prowl, stretching him wonderfully again, making him keen in ecstasy.

**G1 Skyfire x Sunstreaker**

"Hon-honestly, Sunstreaker, it was n-nothing, I was just d-doing my job." the giant scientist stuttered uneasily as the toughliner straddled his hips and pushed him back forcefully, but without hurting him.

"Oh shut up and enjoy this already. You should count yourself lucky and take it while you're getting it. Pit, if it wasn't for Bumblebee I wouldn't even have thought of this, but then it is a _very _good way to say thankyou." the golden Lamborghini purred as he was mindful of the jet's wings while forcing him down onto the scientist's own berth.

Skyfire let out a strangled keen as black servo practically groped his panel, the other moving to his wings and making him release a startled moan.

Sunstreaker grinned wickedly. "Oh, you're going to like this… I bet you don't get a lot of proper spiking… I think you'd really like someone pounding that big, wet port of yours, make you _scream_…"

Skyfire didn't know why, but to his surprise he found the golden twin's dirty talk was turning him on something fierce.

Sunstreaker was somewhat surprised when two large white hands slipped around him and dragged him down. He didn't fight the kiss as the jet pulled him into it, expertly moulding his mouth to the other's.

_Wow, this was easier than I thought it would be_ he smirked to himself, still groping the jet's huge frame.

It wasn't long before the golden twin had the shuttles panel open and his impressive spike had been coaxed to its full pressurised length.

Skyfire panted hard, watching in stunned disbelief as the most gorgeous mech he'd ever touched opened his panel and straddled him, waggling his hips with his glossa just poking out from between his teeth.

Skyfires optics widened, but his vocaliser wouldn't do anything… until with a confident and altogether too lustful smirk, Sunstreaker began to sink down onto his spike. That's when a loud moan escaped him.

**IDW Skyfire x Fortress maximus -Drago-Sen**

"Mmmm, Primus, you're so _wet_" the huge. Noble crested mech grumbled approvingly into the shuttle's audio. Skyfire writhed as thick digits made hard strokes on the outside edges of his port, spreading his lubricant as it dripped generously from the opening, threatening to run down the inside of his white thighs.

"_Ooh…uuughn…F-,mmmm…Maximus…" _Skyfire couldn't do much more than rasp a whisper, crying out suddenly as he was pressed up against the work bench he had been leaning on. He lifted a leg, spreading himself automatically to allow his lover better access.

Fortress Maximus took full advantage of this, releasing the red and white jet's spike from it's housing. It slid out, pressurising with very little coaxing now.

Skyfire cried out and clutched the bench behind him hard as two massive digits slid back down to his valve and pressed right into the soaking, hot entrance, stretching him deliciously.

The larger mech smirked slightly, drinking in the sounds Skyfire made as he plunged his digits deeper into the clutching, rippling valve of the scientist.

The jet moaned, turbines rumbling low as his entire frame began to shudder at the onslaught.

Fortress Maximus used his thumb to stroke along the upper edge of the impressive red and white cord, which pressed back with the pulse of electrolytic hydraulic fluid, quivering as it stood proud.

The guardian dove into Skyfire's neck when the shuttle threw his helm back in pleasure, starting to truly pump the slightly smaller mech.

**Aerialbots/Seeker!Bee - What is he doing? ~TV-the-sue**

Bumblebee had been outside the Ark for only five kliks, and already a small crowd had gathered to watch him. It was one of his first flights since being fixed up from his revelation and subsequent near death battle with Sunstorm.

He had been mostly reclusive since leaving the medbay, holing up in either Prowl and Jazz's or the twins quarters, leaving at quite periods to collect his energon… but wherever he walked, he no longer hid his seeker kibble. Wings stood proud on his back, fluttering slowly, twitching if he was spooked… truly, while few had tried to talk to him (not many had the tanks yet) those that had couldn't quite believe it was the same mech.

So now, watching him fly, it was even harder for any of them to connect the bot they could see with the bot they had known…

Currently, the black and yellow jet was doing some complicated form of manoeuvres. The Aerial bots had been one of the first lot of mechs to come out to watch, having practically stalked Bee whenever they caught sight of him.

Being such young fliers, they were extremely curious to know more about what it was to be a seeker now they knew there was one amoung them… a very experienced one even if he had had to turn into a triple changer and hide his flight capabilities.

They themselves had not seen any other jet doing manoeuvres quite like the ones Bumblebee was pulling off now. They were simultaneously very impressed, very puzzled, quite a bit jealous and… something else they couldn't quite define and simply didn't understand.

"What IS he doing? He's not just… showing off for everyone is he? Cause it looks like it but why would he do that when he's been hiding for ages?" Slingshot frowned, perplexed, and Fireflight shrugged, tilting his helm and cooing softly at a rather impressive move the mini-seeker had just made.

"Maybe we should just go up and ask him?" Suggested Skydive, but a deep chuckle from behind them had them all turn to find Skyfire had come up close behind them. The huge shuttle, who had been their (literally) biggest mentor to date, was watching Bee, arms crossed, wings fluttering slightly, smiling.

"It's a mating display flight. None of you would have seen one before. I have to say, his is one of the best I've seen. Very complex, but very eloquent."

The fliers looked between each other, optics wide, then back up at Bumblebee.

"So… if that's a mating flight… he's not doing it at US is he? Or.. Is he just practicing?" Air raid asked cautiously, frowning a little.

This drew another small laugh from the shuttle.

"I think you'll find his intended audience has a much better vantage point."

And turning to follow the gaze of the giant white and red mech, all five of their mouths fell open as they spotted, quite clearly, Jazz and Prowl cuddled together up on the top of the volcano's lip, watching Bumblebee's flight with wrapt attention. If any cared to zoom their optics in on the pair, they'd be able to see Prowl's door wings moving in response, unconsciously imitating the movements Bumblebee himself was making.

**Aerialbots/Skyfire -Zomgitsalaura**

The shuttle wasn't sure whether he was lucky or cursed…

On the one servo, taking Silverbolt's virginity had been a wonderful experience, for him and the concord.

His first heat had been… interesting, but manageable.

On the other servo, the fact that the rest of his gestalt, having been broken in all at once by Bumblebee at Ratchet's request, had also managed to synchronise their first heats, may have been viewed as an incredible stroke of awesome luck by some fliers.

Sure Skyfire had pretty good stamina and a healthy libido after being frozen in ice for so long…

But PRIMUS sometimes he just wanted to get out and stretch his legs… was that so much to ask?

Did they HAVE to turn into a seething pile of clingy hissy possessive jetlings if he even hinted at leaving the room for a klik?

Of course, when Silverbolt began licking at his un-retracted spike, trying to get it to pressurise again… he supposed walking around and getting fresh air was a bit over-rated after all…

**Jazz/Huffer - smouldering kiss - flaming marsh**

Now, Jazz was an easygoing mech. He took criticism well, took insults on the chin and fired back snappy quips with a smile and was always happy to take the personality quirks and habits of others in his stride. He was always known as the most easygoing mech aboard the Ark.

But even HE had his limits.

It just so happened Huffer was pushing him to them.

The mech was a pessimist, everybody knew it, and generally they ignored it, just like Jazz did (even Bumblebee usually gave up trying to cheer him up fairly quickly most of the time).

But for some reason, today, his whining was incessant. His higher pitched tinny vocals were boring into Jazz's audios even over his internal radio. And despite other mechs on the command deck grumbling at him to shut it, he just wouldn't quit.

The saboteur was considering drastic action to shut the mech up when Brawn spoke up.

"Hey Huffer, You know what I think?"

The lilac and yellow/orange mech paused briefly in his litany of whining for a moment. "What, Brawn?"

"I know something you can't possibly complain about."

There was a strange muffled noise and Jazz turned around, visor flashing as he found the two minbots completely lip-locked, Brawn giving the small hauler one of the hottest kisses Jazz had witnessed all orn. It was a full ten astroseconds of blissful silence before the orange and green mech pulled back and went back to his monitor station like nothing had happened, nothing but the smallest smirk on his lip-plates. "You complain about my technique and I'll deck you."

Huffer remained completely still in his seat, faceplate like a deer caught in headlights.

Jazz chuckled and Brawn winked at him.

The rest of the duty shift in the command room was blissfully silent.

(haha I bet you all thought I'd make Jazz kiss Huffer. Ffff didn't want to be predictable XP )

**?/? - Wicked- Unspecified free-reign smut**

"Nhu! Oh! Hnnn, yes, Primus YES!"

The mech beneath him writhed and he purred, deep in his engine, taking his time to slide his spike deep before pulling back slowly, teasingly, torturously…

"F-Frag almighty… unnh… so nice… so big…"

"Want me to fill you up, hmm?" He leaned over his partner, nuzzling into the windshield, licking at it and nipping at the edge, making the other buck and swear and moan. "Want me to plunge myself into your lovely tight port until I fill you with lots and lots of nice, hot transfluid? Would you like that?"

The smaller bot groaned, looking up into his faceplate, reaching for him and stroking his helm, bucking into a slightly faster thrust, his own faceplate twisted with tight, intense pleasure as he was steadily mowed down into his own desk.

"Ungh… frag yes… harder… please… want you… I can take it… need it harder… Primus face me into oblivion, please!"

The panting request was all Skyfire needed, and with a predatory growl and a flare of his wings, he grasped the red hip plates and began slamming into the snug but soaked port.

Ratchet flung his chevron'd helm back and cried out loudly in ecstasy.

Skyfire was soon moaning and crying out with him as his hips pistoned into the medic, splattering lubricant over the desk. It wasn't long before the shuttle tensed and jerked in deep, keening as hot transfluid shot into Ratchet's valve, causing it clench like a vice around the huge spike, the ambulance crying out loudly through his overload.


	6. Chapter 6

_Hey all, I wrote this for the TF_Rare_pairing Journal over on LJ_.  
_It's just a short thing written for the prompt: Megatron /Jazz - 'all shall love me and despair'._

_Warnings for allusions to dub-con and mentions of spark bonding, also it's kinda dark themed, but mostly a philosophical Megatron trip_

_Also not my best writing, but it's a weekly thing, so it was speedy_ writing.

* * *

It was the darkest, dankest cell Jazz had ever had the misfortunate to get to know the insides of intimately.

They'd thrown him down there, presumably to rot, because they didn't seem to keep guard… not on the same level as he was situated. That meant they were extremely dumb or didn't know him very well.

Or, they thought there was no way out but one door somewhere above.

Idiots.

He was Jazz.

Didn't they know the meister could make his own doors?

Mind, it was taking a fair while, but he was getting there.

He had his plans worked out, knew the timing of his rations (meagre and disgusting as they were).

He had a tool fashioned from his own armour and wiring… not redundant systems, no, they'd stripped him of those… apparently had enough sense to know he was resourceful at least.

They'd underestimated just HOW resourceful, but then again most mechs wouldn't purposefully torture themselves by taking chunks out of their secondary systems just to make slap-dash lock picks and knives.

At the moment, Jazz was simply conserving his strength, biding his time.

He'd failed to retrieve the necessary information, but the Prime would probably be happy just to have him back alive (and preferably in one piece… mostly so Ratchet didn't kick up a fuss).

Sounds caught his attention.

Pedefalls from above, heading towards the way down to his cell. The bot sounded heavier than the usual assortment that came down, and what was more, it was certainly not ration time yet.

Jazz frowned slightly, sitting up a bit straighter.

Perhaps, at last, his torture was going to begin for real… then that would be Vortex they were sending down.

Even as good a saboteur as Jazz was, he shuddered at the thought of a Vortex interrogation.

There was no more sadistic mech on Cybertron than that fragged up rotary.

The sound of the steps grew louder… they were on the level where he was being held now.

Convinced he was doomed to several cycles of unimaginable pain, Jazz schooled his features into a well practiced poker face…

Which vanished the moment the large silver, black and red tyrant came into the light of the corridor, beyond his energized little hole in the wall.

Bright, crimson optics bored into Jazz's visor, and he had the discomforted feeling the warlord could see right through it into his less than stellar optics.

His surprise at Megatron's appearance was quickly hidden behind another mask of neutrality, curiosity warring within him against a healthy dose of fear.

He may have been the Meister, but Megatron was one hell of a match for him any orn.

Especially in the poker-face division.

The cool, hard, calculating stare never left the saboteur's gaze as the bars were de-energised and Megatron stepped into the space barely big enough for him to stand straight in.

Jazz maintained his half lotus position against the wall, staring back with a calmness that contradicted the tension in his frame.

He was ready to spring at any moment.

Why the slag had the fragging leader of the Decepticons decided he was worth his time?

Surely this couldn't be a good thing.

"Jazz, isn't it?"

The words rolled out colder than solidified nitrogen.

The saboteur struggled not to shudder or twitch in response.

"What's it to ya?"

The half-drawled response actually got the hint of a smirk out of the warlord.

"I wont even ask if you know who I am. If you didn't, you wouldn't have gotten as far into my base as you did. Ignorant fools don't hack like that."

Was Jazz imagining things, or was that almost a compliment?

"Figured I'd drop in and give myself a challenge."

The look on Megatron's face at Jazz's nonchalant, if not slightly flat reply, told clearly that he wasn't buying the act.

"I'm not here to get the wheres and why-fores of your motivations. I only want your audio for a breem or so."

Jazz let himself frown slightly and tilt his helm at that.

"Now why would some-bot as busy and important as you want to talk to lowly lil' old me?"

"Because I'm not sure you've been given a fair chance. An opportunity to see everything from all angles. That IS what you like to do before tackling a problem, isn't it? My communications specialist seems to have analysed that as a particular trait of yours in your hacking. Very thorough. Very good planning. Skills wasted on the Autobots."

Jazz scoffed.

"Ooooh, ah shoulda guessed this was gonna turn into a recruitment drive. No sale Megs, ah may not wear anyone's badge, but that don't mean I'm a swinger… least, not in that sense."

The saboteur instantly regretted his little quip the moment he saw the dangerous glint in the warlord's optics.

A nasty smirk crawled its way across Megatron's faceplate, scaring Jazz more than any rage or threats could.

"Ah, but you have not heard me out… I'm aware my methods of persuation are well known. But do not think me lacking in morals. Truth, is one of the weapons in my arsenal. I am also a mech of my word."

Jazz stood slowly as the much larger grey mech loomed imposingly, somehow having gotten closer without Jazz really noticing.

"You? Truth? The two concepts don't compute so well in mah helm together."

"Mmmmm, is that so? Let me ask you something, Jazz of Kaon… yes, I know where you are from… I know perfectly well you clawed your way out of the same hole I did… ahah, don't give me that look, you should be honoured to lay claim to your past. You are not LIKE them… you are not WEAK. Now, as I was saying, I will put a few questions to you… what is the more worthy cause? Fight for the mechs who came from the privilege of 'peace' upon the back-struts of bots like us, OR… rejoin us in overthrowing the true oppressors, the conglomerations of power who decide that their perfect society, their 'peace' is to be carried by the sufferance of the lower classes… classes they have designated to lives in slavery and cruelty…"

"Tell me, Jazz… where do your loyalties really lie? Your own kind? Or the ones who dole out their silver promises of wistful, unreal ideals of paradise to placate you?"

Megatron leant down until his faceplate was micromechanometers from Jazz's own.

The saboteur nearly swayed with the dizzying brightness of red filling his vision.

He did not answer, mouth set in a stony grimace.

There was a pause, the air in the dank cell thick with unspoken tensions, and Megatron could fairly hear the frantic buzz of thought processes in the small black helm.

The silver tyrant laughed. A deep, strut chilling chuckle as he backed off just a little.

"You require further convincing? I told you, I am a Mech of truth. I do not make any of these false promises of light and utopian living. You and I both know that's fanciful rubbish."

Megatron turned and paced around the cell, gesturing slightly with a servo, the other held rather formally at his side.

"In reality… there will always be corruption. There will always be the few elevated 'haves' taking advantage of the many 'have nots'. It will perpetuate, because it is our nature, as sentient beings, to exploit other, less capable sentient beings. That is how the universe _works.'_

'WE were the 'have nots'. We MADE ourselves into the 'haves', and in doing so, earned the RIGHT to take our place at the top. I make no secret of my philosophies… I am a realist. I will never be able to abolish the use of others for one's own gain.

But I will do any mech the courtesy of not hiding this behind gilded promises and haughty proclamations."

He looked to Jazz, who remained leaning against the wall, grimace set in place, visor dimmer than before.

_Good. _

_He is thinking._

"The system is simple, elegant. No bot will be unsure of their place in my society. The strong rule. The weak obey.

But do not think I have no compassion. I wish to see my peoples become great again… greater than they ever were under the false pretence of civility boasted by the golden age.

And you and I BOTH know, all too well, that it was _false_. There was nothing golden about the ages in which we were created. Nothing golden in slavery or starvation.

I would never allow my people to starve. The strong rule, yes. But they have responsibilities. We have a duty, to maintain the health of our planet, our culture.

The strong must maintain this, by maintaining and guiding the weak into their purposes. They will serve us, and they will be cared for, and none will be left hungry, none will be unattended.

It is not the perfect system of freedom. But freedom is not a right GIVEN. It is _earned. _The same way we earned it.

You give it away to fools like those who call themselves Autobots, and it is merely taken for granted.

Do you really want bots who have no idea what it is like to fight for themselves taking places of power?"

Jazz looked up into the vehement optics of the warlord where he stood not two paces from him.

Jazz was silent for a few more moments, considering everything he'd heard.

He'd known Megatron was quite the motivational speaker.

But he'd never _really _listened.

He'd been… afraid to.

His fears were not without reason.

He found himself… _agreeing _with so much of what was said.

It was hard not to be sympathetic to Megatron's ideals.

They WERE realistic… starkly so, STAGGERINGLY so. In the beginning, it had been too much for the high-council to accept. So shocking to the prim and proper and their established order that they'd reacted in a whiplash manner, striking out not only to silence, but to tear down Megatron's ideas and his followers.

Not that it had done them any good in the end.

Once the seeds of dissent were planted an a rally point had risen in the form of an ex-gladiator, the juggernaut of change had taken over.

But Jazz, against his own will, had felt every word in his spark.

As much as he loathed Megatron for all the lives he had already taken, he could not dispute the ideals the Decepticon leader fought for.

So… what did that make _him?_

Still technically a neutral, and an Autobot sympathiser. By all rights, Megatron would be better off just killing him.

But instead he was extending his servo in recognition of their similarities… Jazz's strength, born of the same pit the ex-gladiator had been sparked into.

Their paths had been different, but their stories not dissimilar.

A darkness that sat at the edges of Jazz's spark and mind loomed in a way it hadn't since the beginning of the war, and the saboteur despised it.

He raised his helm and fixed his gaze back on the piercing scarlet optics.

"You realise you'd always have unrest? The weak don't always stay weak. Look at US. What's to stop the mechs breakin' from their place and takin' over huh? Ya startin' something' that ain't ever gonna finish. It's going to tear Cybertron, and every Cybertronian on it to pieces."

The laugh that rolled from the tyrant this time was cold, hard, and belied the utter frigidity of the mech's spark.

"That's the POINT. I do not discourage unrest… I _champion _it. What are Cybertronians ever going to accomplish through peace? A better understanding of the universe around us? And what will that gain us? Useless facts. Through my model of society, we take what we need to strengthen and advance, and discard the useless facets that hold us back. Mechs are free to seek their own freedom, which is the most beautiful aspect of this whole mission."

Megatron stalked over to the smaller mech, putting himself well within his personal space again.

"If through our fight to conquer all as the rightful, dominant species, we tear ourselves apart… then _so be it. _If we cannot survive ourselves, then how are we worthy to make claim to the universe and it's treasures? Preservation of life… as I learned early, in the pits… is over-rated. You do not _live _until you stop caring about whether or not you die… you cannot tell me you don't understand that concept intimately, not given your history."

Jazz shuddered as large, dark, charcoal servos slid over his frame with the barest of touches.

He did not break his gaze with the warlord, as much to defend his pride as it was because he just couldn't look away. It discomforted him to realise he felt very akin to a petro-rabbit caught in headlights.

He did his best not to show it… but the manic gleam now dominating the tyrant's optics was as frightening as the smile on his faceplates.

"You've seen my followers… my loyalists… they submitted to death, and gained their lives, earned their freedom. So many have begun to realise that the harsh truth is the most liberating. The Autobots think they understand love? They know _nothing…_ their love is a _cheap, weak _imitation.

My followers love me… in the truest sense, without the need for murky, simpering affection."

Huge servos scraped down Jazz's sides, enough to strip paint, nearly to dent, but teetering right on the line between pleasure and pain.

Jazz made no move to stop or encourage Megatron. He merely stared into the sea of blinding red filling his vision, feeling it seep into his mind, encouraging that blackness, which incited his spark to rally in defence against it.

He let no part of his inner war show, and yet Megatron seemed to be able to _feel _it.

The grey behemoth laughed again, a true, naked, sick sort of humour to it.

"The Autobots will learn to love me… and when they do, they will despair. The very same way you are, Jazz."

"Ah don't love you. Ah don't love your ideals. I recognise 'em. Ah acknowledge the possibilities. But ah don't love it… ANY of it. In any sense o' the word."

The saboteur was shocked by the coldness in his own vocals, but it was at odds with his internal dialogue of constant fear, resistance, acceptance, regret, confusion, hate, and determination.

Just when he'd thought Megatron couldn't look any scarier, his expression changed again, holding a deep, disturbing sort of promise, and Jazz realised his notion before that his torturer had arrived was entirely correct.

Suddenly, he wished it HAD been Vortex.

Dark servos gripped him firmly, pressing him to the wall, and the warlord loomed again, a black knee sliding forcefully between white thighs.

"I did tell you, Jazz, that I have more than one means of persuation."

He leant in to bring his mouth to the saboteur's audial, rumbling in a voice of promise that sent a shiver of ice through the black and white frame.

"You may not be an Autobot… but you too will have reason to love me… and you will despair."

0000000000

It was very long time before Jazz ever revealed himself to another.

His trust… his love… both in the true sense, were a rare gift, that he imparted only upon Prowl when their sparks touched for the first time.

It was meant to be happy… wonderful, the best thing Jazz had ever experienced, and it was…

But…

He still ended up curled against Prowl's chest plates, keening into the Praxians chassis.

Prowl… ever patient, ever understanding, clung tighter than was strictly necessary to Jazz's plating.

He never would have guessed at the darkness lurking within his lover… the self-disgust, the pit of horrors and loathing and guilty desire, on top of which sat that one memory, something Jazz refused to keep from him…

It was his biggest shame.

That Megatron had done something to him he could never stop desiring… and he would forever suffer because of it.


	7. Chapter 7

_Short and sweet. Nother one for the TF _Rare_Pairing community that I thought I might as well add to the drabbles pile. Please excuse the extreme shortness, but I didn't feel like waiting to add it with other drabbles, because I never know when they'll be written, and if i dont do it now I'll forget about it._

_Enjoy I hope._

* * *

He had him pinned to a wall, servos raking cries of pain and pleasure from that deceptively innocent vocaliser.

A knee parted the black thighs, riding up to the bright yellow codpiece (which just begged to be opened) and pressing into it, lifted him higher up the wall.

The smaller bot cried out and ground himself against it. Thundercracker could feel the heat radiating from between the Autobot's legs.

He rumbled in satisfaction, pressing bodily into the leader, scraping his cockpit over the striped hood that made up his chest plating now.

"Mmmmmm… Am I correct I thinking that this new body of yours is yet to be taken? No one's touched it like this yet… have they?"

Bumblebee shivered at the growl of his deep, resonating voice.

He shook his helm, optics hazed with pleasure and need.

"Please… Thunder-nngh… cracker… please, take me… claim me" the voice was less a plead and more an order.

Thundercracker LIKED that… liked the power this smaller mech held, the strength he showed against the crumbling Autobot movement.

Starscream had always considered himself a leader, but he didn't even have half the ability Bumblebee had shown.

The minibot had his respect, that much was for sure. And now, he would have Bumblebee's body.

Much more worthy of his attentions than Starscream ever had been, even if he WAS a ground-pounder and former enemy.

The yellow codpiece slid back, and small servos tugged at his wings, egging him on.

He buried his hard spike in one swift, delicious motion, both of them crying out.

He rocked Bumblebee against the wall with hard, demanding thrusts, and the mini took them, legs wrapping around his hips, growling for more.

The blue jet happily obliged, grasping yellow hip plating and rolling his spike up, deeper, faster.

He curled forward, biting and nipping at the Autobot leader's neck cabling, earning a loud moan of pleasure in approval.

Hip plating squealed and clashed in their frenzy to extract more and more pleasure from the coupling.

Thundercracker slipped a servo between them as they panted and nipped at each other's lip-plates.

Grasping the other's extended spike, he pumped it roughly, causing his catch to arch and cry out.

Overload had Bumblebee clenching that tight, hot valve around the invading jet, and after a few more thrusts, Thundercracker followed with a roar.

The sound of his harmonics rippled across them, this time not as an attack, but an overflow of pleasure, the feel of the deep bass rocking their systems into a double release.

The jet pounded Bumblebee's rippling valve until he felt his overload begin to ebb, and he held the yellow hips down to bury his spike.

The smell of lubricant, transfluid and ionic discharge was heavy as they vented frantically to cool their systems.

Thundercracker quite enjoyed the feel of the hot little port around him, their combined fluids flowing down their thighs, dripping with soft patters onto the floor.

With a deep, satiated rumble, the jet lowered them to the floor, sitting with the minibot still impaled on him in his lap.

Bumblebee nuzzled under his jaw and clung to his frame, petting at his wings.

"Thought you'd enjoy that." The blue jet murmured lazily.

"Enjoy what?"

Thundercracker looked around from his seat in front of the various monitors showing his few favourite channels.

The daydream had been lovely… but now it's focus stood there, oblivious, giving him a curious, if not slightly wary and confused look.

Thundercracker let a lascivious grin creep across his faceplate, scarlet optics burning with intent.

"Let me show you."


End file.
